'■•  gqgig:?-' 


WHEN 
THE  FOREST 
ARE  ABLAZE 


KATHARINE  B.  JUDSOK 


k 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


PRESENTED  BY 

PROF. CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 

MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


WHEN  THE  FORESTS  ARE  ABLAZE 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


Myths  and  Legends  of  California  and 
the  Old  Southwest.  Over  50  full-page 
illustrations.  Small  quarto.    $1.50  net 

Myths  and  Legends  of  Alaska.  Beauti- 
fully illustrated.         Small  quarto.    $1.50  net 

Myths  and  Legends  of  the  Pacific  North- 
west. Especially  of  Washington  and  Ore- 
gon.   With  50  full-page  illustrations. 

Small  quarto.    $1.50  net 

Montana.  "The  Land  of  Shining  Moun- 
tains."   Illustrated.    Indexed. 

Square  8vo.      75  cents  net 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO.,   Publishers 


WHEN  THE  FORESTS 
ARE  ABLAZE 


BY 

KATHARINE   B.  JUDSON 

AUTHOR  OF  "MYTHS    AND   LEGENDS   OF    CALIFORNIA    AND   THE 

OLD  SOUTHWEST,"   "MYTHS  AND    LEGENDS  OF    ALASKA," 

"MYTHS      AND      LEGENDS      OF     THE      PACIFIC 

NORTHWEST,"  AND   "  MONTANA1* 


ILLUSTRATED 
FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 

SECOND  EDITION 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1912 


Copyright 

A.  G  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1912 


Published  September,  1912 
Second  Edition,  November  30,  1912 


PRESS   OF   THE   VAIL   COMPANY 
COSHOCTON,    U.    S.   A. 


DEDICATED 
TO 

"THE  MOUNTAINEERS" 

WHOSE  OBJECT  IT  IS  TO  PRESERVE  THE  MARVELOUS  BEAUTY 
OF  THE  PACIFIC  NORTHWEST 
AND  WHO  ARE  YEARLY  APPALLED  BY  THE 
HAVOC  OF  THE  FOREST  FIRES 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACT 

I     The  Parody 1 1 

II  Where  the  Storm  Winds  Blow  .     30 

III  Beginnings 50 

IV  On  the  Trail 65 

V     Burnham's   Cabin 87 

VI     Getting  Settled 99 

VII     The  Berry  Patch in 

VIII     Doughnuts 130 

IX    The  Douglas  Fir 146 

X    Improvements 160 

XI     "Brookside" 176 

XII     Hunting 182 

XIII  My  Cabin 208 

XIV  Christmas 221 

XV  The  Terror  of  the  Forest     .      .   245 

XVI     The  Squatter 264 

XVII    Up  the  Valley 277 

XVIII     On  the  Peak 299 

XIX  Hope  Denham  Again  .      .      .      .315 

XX    Danger 323 

XXI  When  the  Forests  Burn  .      .      .  333 

XXII     Fire  and  Water 346 

XXIII  Illahee 367 

XXIV  Woman's  Rights      ......  374 


M311691 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


More  useful  so  than  a  charred  stub  after 

a  fire Frontispiece 

Material   for  a  bonfire  prepared  by  an  ava- 
lanche        83 

Such  streams  as  these  vanish  when  the  forests 
burn 161 

The  cool  green  depths  of  a  Washington  forest  282 

"Whirlwinds  of  tempestuous  fire"  ....    333 

The  desolation  after  a  fire 356 


WHEN   THE 
FORESTS  ARE  ABLAZE 

CHAPTER  'I 

THE  PARODY 

THE  sixteen  teachers  of  the  Whittier  School 
leaned  back  in  their  chairs,  chatting  for  a 
moment  before  they  cleared  away  the  fragments 
of  their  hasty  luncheon.  All  but  one  had  fin- 
ished; she  was  devoted  to  Fletcherism. 

"Isn't    there    any    more    tea?"    she    asked. 
"Can't  you  squeeze  the  handle  a  little  hard — " 

"To  marry  or  not  to  marry;  that  is  the  question — " 

Sally  Brooks's  clear,  mocking  voice  could  be 
heard  above  the  hum  of  talk.  The  teachers 
laughed  and  listened.  Sally's  ready  wit  and 
clever  parodies  had  lightened  many  a  day's 
work. 

[ii] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"To  be  engaged !     To  marry, 

*T  is  a  destination 
Devoutly  to  be  wished.     To  say  'Yes !'     To  be  engaged ! 
Engaged!     Perchance  to  be  jilted.     Aye,  there  's  the  rub: 
To  be  left  standing  at  the  rose-embowered  altar 
While  the  recreant  groom  flees  with  another  girl." 

Handclaps  and  a  chorus  of  laughter  greeted 
the  speaker. 

"Sally's  parodies  are  so  clever,"  said  Helen 
Stone  to  her  neighbor,  Jane  Myers.  But  the 
laughing  eyes  widened  with  surprise  as  she 
glanced  at  her  companion's  face. 

"Oh,  yes,  they're  always  fun,"  stammered 
Miss  Myers,  uncomfortably  aware  of  the  keen 
gaze  searching  her  face.  She  had  laughed  and 
applauded  with  the  others.  She  could  not  help 
it  if  her  face  flushed.     The  room  was  warm. 

Miss  Baker,  from  across  the  table,  was  also 
looking  at  her  curiously.  But  a  moment  later 
there  was  the  scraping  of  chairs  on  the  bare 
floor  as  the  teachers  not  on  duty  that  week  for 
"clearing  up"  passed  in  groups  out  of  the  room. 

"bid  you  see  Jane  Myers's  face?"  asked  Miss 
Baker,  as  the  door  closed  behind  the  others. 
"You  pile  up  the  teacups  and  I  '11  look  after  the 
spoons  and  other  things." 

[12] 


The  Parody 


"Yes,"  answered  Miss  Bridges,  "and  I  heard 
Sally  Brooks's  tone." 

"You  don't  suppose  she  could  have — " 

"Who  could  have?" 

"Oh,  Sally — no,  I  mean  Miss  Myers." 

"Could  have  what?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  There — I  knew  you  had  piled 
those  too  high." 

"Oh,  dear.  There's  the  bell!  Why,  that 
can't  be  right.  We  have  at  least  ten  minutes 
yet." 

"No,  we  have  n't.  Parodies  take  time,"  and 
with  a  quizzical  look  on  her  face,  Miss  Baker 
dropped  the  silver  and  fled  to  her  class  room. 

In  the  upper  hall  the  sixth  and  seventh  grade 
teachers  had  been  talking. 

"Oh,  it  could  n't  be !  Sally  is  n't  careful  about 
hurting  people's  feelings,  but  she  could  n't  have 
meant  it.     She  is  too  much  of  a  lady  for  that." 

"But  Miss  Myers's  face!" 

"Ye-es.  But  there  might  have  been  some  co- 
incidence." 

Jane  Myers's  face  was  burning  as  she  stood  at 
her  desk  while  the  gong  sounded  and  the  lines 
of  marching  children  filed  into  the  room.     She 

[13] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

hoped  they,  at  least,  would  not  give  her  the 
searching  glances  she  had  received  from  two  or 
three  teachers.  Yet  children  do  have  an  un- 
canny way  of  seeing  everything  they  are  not  ex- 
pected to  see. 

"To  marry  or  not  to  marry — " 

The  words  rang  through  her  head  as  she 
tapped  her  bell  for  the  geography  class. 

"Engaged!     Perchance  to  be  jilted — " 

"Johnnie,  what  is  geography?" 

Could  Sally  Brooks  have  known?  Johnny 
was  considering  his  question. 

"Jogifry  is  round  like  an  orange." 

"What?" 

"Yes  'm.  It 's  flat  at  the  top  an'  bottom  an' 
bulges  out  'round  the  middle." 

Jane  explained  carefully  the  trifling  differ- 
ence between  the  shape  of  the  earth  and  jogifry. 

"To  be  left  standing  at  the  rose-embowered  altar — " 

"Gilbert,  give  three  reasons  for  saying  the 
earth  is  round."  Gilbert  paused  thoughtfully 
for  a  moment. 

"While  the  recreant  groom  flees  with  another  girl." 
[14] 


The  Parody 


"Teacher  says  it 's  roun'  an'  the  book  says  it 's 
roun'  and  a  man  tole  me  it  was  roun'."  Gilbert 
was  triumphant.  No  theorem  in  geometry 
could  have  been  more  conclusively  proved. 

"Why,  no.  Now,  Gilbert,  your  father  is  a  sailor. 
Suppose  he  started  to  sail  around  the  earth. 
Could  he  keep  on  sailing  in  the  same  direction 
until  he  came  back  to  his  starting  point?" 

"Nope,"  said  Gilbert. 

"Why  not?" 

"  'Cos  he  's  sick." 

The  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Fagan,  shabby, 
untidy,  half-frightened  and  wholly  defiant, 
marched  indignantly  to  the  teacher's  desk. 

"I  wants  to  know,"  she  demanded  in  a  loud 
voice,  "why  you  never  ups  my  bhoy?" 

"You  are  Mrs.  Fagan?" 

"Shure,  I  'ze  Mrs.  Fagan.  Who  else  should  I 
be?  You  ups  all  the  ither  bhoys  and  you  does  n't 
up  my  bhoy?" 

The  children  were  staring. 

"Will  you  go  to  the  principal,  please,  or  else 
wait?     I  will  be  free  in  about  five  minutes." 

"Wait  for  ye?  Niver!  I  wants  to  know  why 
ye  did  n't  up  my  bhoy." 

[15] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  go  to  the  principal. 
He  will  explain  the  matter." 

Mrs.  Fagan  insisted.  Miss  Myers  declined. 
By  the  time  the  irate  woman  had  left  the  school- 
room was  in  a  buzz  of  excitement. 

Jane  tapped  the  bell  for  quiet.  There  was  lit- 
tle response. 

"Silence,  please."  The  tone  was  firm  but  one 
penetrating  whisper  continued. 

"Silence!"  There  was  silence  then  but  dis- 
cipline for  the  afternoon  was  done  for.  Even 
without  Mrs.  Fagan,  her  own  disquiet  with 
regard  to  Sally  Brooks's  parody  left  her  without 
her  usual  control  of  the  children. 

There  was  little  more  information  to  be 
gleaned  from  the  interrupted  geography  lesson. 
Sadie  Brown  insisted  that  a  hemisphere  is  the 
thing  that  gives  different  kinds  of  heat,  while 
Jim  Blaker  insisted  with  great  positiveness  that 
a  blizzard  was  something  inside  of  a  hen. 

The  reading  class  droned  over  pioneer  ad- 
ventures— the  romantic  story  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  retold  in  simple  form. 

"Why  were  the  Hudson's  Bay  forts  so  impor- 
tant in  the  early  pioneer  days,  Alice?" 

Ei6] 


The  Parody 


"  'Cos  the  Injuns  walked, — oh,  ever  so  far, 
through  the  woods,  to  change  their  hides." 

The  afternoon  wore  on.  During  the  writing 
lesson,  that  penetrating  whisper  again  reached 
Jane. 

"Still  talking,  Pearl." 

"I  told  Elsie  pa  had  his  new  teef.  The  top 
'uns  is  all  right  but  the  bottomers  teeter  a  leetle." 

With  indescribable  relief  Jane  saw  the  chil- 
dren go  that  afternoon — even  Jim  Blaker  who 
took  advantage  of  "teacher's"  very  evident  pre- 
occupation to  forget  he  had  been  kept  in  for 
fifteen  minutes. 

When  the  last  one  was  fairly  out  and  gone, 
Jane  turned  back  to  her  desk.  There  was  a  pile 
of  papers  to  be  corrected,  there  was  the  next 
day's  work  to  be  prepared — and  there  was  Sally 
Brooks  to  be  considered.  For  the  moment  Sally 
had  her  entire  attention. 

Could  it  have  been  a  mere  coincidence?  Jane 
thought  over  every  detail  of  the  circumstance. 
Sally's  voice  had  been  so  full  of  meaning.  But 
where  could  she  have  learned  it?  None  of  the 
teachers,  so  far  as  she  knew,  had  acquaintances 
in  the  little  Connecticut  town  where  it  all  hap- 

[17] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

pened.  And  it  was  ten  years  ago!  If  Sally- 
knew,  had  she  told  any  of  the  others?  Some 
had  laughed — well,  rather  too  heartily.  And 
certainly  some  of  them  had  given  her  very 
searching  glances.  Every  trifle  assumed  great 
importance. 

She  picked  up  her  pile  of  papers  after  a  while, 
hoping  to  get  away  unseen.  The  clock  pointed 
to  a  quarter  to  five.     Perhaps  they  had  gone. 

No  such  luck  I  At  the  outer  door  a  group  of 
three  were  talking  together.  Of  course  they 
were  talking  of  her!  She  was  sure  of  that  by 
the  quick  glances  thrown  at  her,  and  they  seemed 
to  have  changed  the  subject. 

"Aren't  you  going  home?  Wait  a  minute," 
said  Miss  Stone  as  she  tried  to  slip  by  them  with 
a  nod.    Jane  turned. 

"I  have  some  errands  to  do  first.  I  '11  see  you 
at  dinner." 

She  walked  hurriedly  out  of  the  yard  and 
down  the  street.  She  was  sure  the  teachers  were 
looking  after  her.  A  block  away  she  stopped 
with  a  jump.  What  a  mistake!  Why  had  she 
avoided  them!  She  ought  to  have  joined  them 
and  talked  along  as  usual.     If  they  did  suspect 

[18] 


The  Parody 


anything,  she  had  given  them  grounds  for  it. 
To  be  so  embarrassed  was  to  convict  herself. 
Oh,  bother  1  Well,  it  was  too  late  now.  She 
would  have  to  be  unusually  lively  at  dinner. 

Jane  started  off  again  and  had  walked  a  half 
mile  before  she  suddenly  realized  it  was  sprin- 
kling. Then  came  the  heavier  rain.  Raining — 
no  umbrella — and  her  best  hat.  It  all  came 
back  in  a  flash.  She  had  intended  to  stop  for 
tea  with  the  minister's  wife  on  her  way  home, 
therefore  her  best  hat.  But  the  umbrella  was 
locked  in  the  empty  schoolhouse.  Harder  and 
harder  down  came  the  rain — the  wet,  pelting 
rain  of  the  east.  The  call  was  omitted  of  neces- 
sity and  the  rapid  steps  were  turned  toward  the 
boarding  house.  Jane  reached  it  in  no  pleasant 
temper. 

Dinner  at  Mrs.  Stone's  was  never  an 
hilarious  meal.  The  boarders  were  all  grade- 
school  teachers  with  the  tendency,  usual  in  any 
grouping  of  this  kind,  to  talk  shop.  To-night 
the  atmosphere  was  oppressive.  One  had  been 
reprimanded  by  her  principal,  another  was 
fagged  by  the  day's  grind,  Jane  was  still  cross 
over  the  hat  and  the  parody,  and  even  Miss 

[19] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Stone  seemed  to  be  in  rather  a  "pecky,"  critical 
mood,  with  watchful  eyes  upon  Jane.  Yet,  true 
to  her  resolution  of  the  afternoon,  Jane  tried  to 
be  lively.  Her  keen  sense  of  humor  usually  pre- 
vailed when  the  atmosphere  was  as  deadly  dull 
as  to-night,  but  for  once  she  failed.  The 
amusing  answers  of  the  children,  told  without 
her  usual  spirit,  fell  flat. 

Dinner  was  getting  to  be  a  nightmare  when 
Barb  Allen  suddenly  opened  the  door  and  came 
in  like  a  cyclone. 

"Hello!  Did  n't  mean  to  be  late!  Oh,  Miss 
Myers,  here 's  a  letter  for  you.  Guess  you 
did  n't  see  it." 

Jane  looked  at  the  unfamiliar  postmark.  It 
was  from  somewhere  in  Colorado.  Then  she 
opened  it. 

"Oh,  girls!  It 's  from  Hope  Denham.  She  's 
taken  up  a  homestead!" 

"A  homestead!" 

"Is  she  crazy?" 

"Where  is  she?" 

A  half  dozen  questions  and  exclamations 
broke  the  dullness.  Here  was  something  do- 
ing. 

[20] 


The  Parody 


"She  's  out  West.  Oh,  you  know  she  said  last 
spring  after  she  had  that  row  with  Mr.  Mc- 
Fadden  that  she  'd  never  teach  again.  She  says 
she  's  having  the  grandest  time." 

"Why,  what—" 

"Read  it,  please" 

"All  right." 

"Dear  Jane: 

What  do  you  suppose  Mac  would  say  if  he 
could  see  me  here!  It's  awfully  jolly.  Just 
think  of  doing  what  you  please  all  the  time — 
all  day  long,  keeping  house  for  yourself  in  the 
dandiest  log  cabin — only  the  wood  rats  get  in 
and  that  affects  the  jolliness  sometimes, — and 
the  mice!  And  then  splitting  your  own  wood 
and  making  garden  and  all  that  and  yet  making 
more  money  than  teaching  those  awful  young- 
'uns.  I  Ve  got  a  hundred  and  sixty  acres  of  land 
— all  my  own — some  of  it  with  trees  on  it  and 
some  of  it  bare.  And  the  cutest  little  brook  you 
ever  saw  though  it  dries  up  late  in  the  summer. 
I  just  love  it.  I  Ve  been  here  four  months  now 
and  I  think  that  is  a  good  test,  don't  you?  I 
have  only  to  wait  five  years  until  I  prove  up  on 

[21] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

it.  And  while  I  am  waiting  all  I  have  to  do  is 
just  to  stay  here  and  watch  the  minutes  flock 
by.  When  my  five  years  are  up  I  '11  be  worth  a 
thousand  dollars  or  more  and  have  all  the  fun 
besides.  Uncle  Mart  lives  about  two  miles 
away  and  there  's  another  teacher  who  has  taken 
up  a  claim  on  the  next  quarter  section,  though 
our  cabins  are  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  apart. 
She  is  doing  it  for  her  health.  She  has  been 
here  a  year  and  she  says  she  's  awfully  tired  of 
it.  But  I  shall  never  be  tired.  I  'd  rather  do 
anything  than  teach  school,  especially  after 
— !  Uncle  Mart  gave  me  the  dearest  little 
Indian  pony — though  sometimes  he  does  try  to 
scrape  me  off.  And  I  'm  learning  to  shoot — 
like  anything.  I  have  my  own  gun,  too.  I  'm 
having  the  grandest  time.  Whoop  I  Be  sure  to 
give  my  love  to  Mac.  And  why  don't  you  take 
up  a  homestead  instead  of  teaching  everlast- 
ingly? 

"Your  shouting  friend 

"Hope  Denham." 

"P.  S.     I  forgot  to  say  that  last  year  Uncle 
Mart  wrote  me  that  if  I  'd  come  out  West,  he  'd 

[22] 


The  Parody 


get  me  a  homestead  claim.  There 's  another 
good  one  about  five  miles  west  of  me,  not  taken 
up  yet.  Come  out  and  join  the  pioneers.  Do 
come,  Jane.  H.  D." 

"That  sounds  just  like  her!" 

"Are  you  going  out  there?  Would  you  take 
up  a  claim?" 

"Who  is  Mac?"  asked  one  of  them.  And 
woman-fashion,  all  began  to  talk  at  once,  with 
Barbara  Allen  in  the  lead. 

"Mac  was  her  principal — Mr.  McFadden. 
They  said  she  had  an  awful  row  with  him — 
about  the  floors,  was  n't  it?" 

"About  several  things,  they  say.  But  it 
started  with  the  floors  and  her  dress — don't  you 
remember  the  fate  of  the  blue  one?" 

"Oh,  yes.  When  she  came  back  in  the  fall  a 
year  ago,  Hope  had  a  pretty  Alice-blue  suit 
that  she  wore  to  school — but  you  know  those 
oiled  floors  and  what  they  would  do  to  a  nice 
skirt!  Hope  wore  that  suit  and  sent  it  to 
the  cleaners  again  and  again  until  the  oil  and  the 
cleaning  took  all  the  color  out  of  it  around  the 
bottom,  besides  the  expense.     Then  she  turned 

[23] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

sensible.  Hope  always  was  on  strained  rela- 
tions with  her  salary,  you  know," — Barbara  Al- 
len was  excited  now  and  talking  without  a 
pause,  at  the  top  of  her  voice.  The  oiled  floor 
grievance  was  one  which  struck  at  all  of  them — 
"so  she  got  a  dark  gray  dress  for  winter  and  wore 
that.  And  there  was  one  eleven-year-old  girl 
in  her  class  who  complained  to  her  mother  that 
she  did  n't  like  Miss  Denham's  gray  dress — she 
liked  the  blue  one  better.  So  that  mother  went 
straight  to  Mr.  McFadden  and  told  him  that 
teachers  should  be  a  model  to  their  pupils  and 
that  her  daughter's  taste  in  dress  was  being  in- 
jured by  the  dreadful  dress  Miss  Denham  was 
wearing." 

"Actually." 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"Then  that  crazy  man, — he  was  only  lately 
married,  or  he  'd  have  known  better, — why  he 
went  straight  to  Hope  to  see  that  dress  himself. 
He  had  n't  noticed  it  before — but  neither  had  he 
noticed  the  blue  suit.  It  was  one  of  those 
dreadful,  dark  days  when  everything  looks  ugly, 
and  Hope  had  a  north  room,  and  the  dress  did 
look  dark.     So  he  told  her  she  ought  not  to  wear 

[24] 


The  Parody 


such  ugly  colors  to  school — that  it  affected  the 
taste  of  the  children." 

"And  Hope  had  tried  to  please  the  man  by 
wearing  that  blue  suit  until  it  was  ruined! 
That  was  too  much  for  her!  She  told  him  she  'd 
ruined  one  dress  trying  the  educate  the  color- 
sense  of  the  children,  but  so  long  as  the  school 
board  persisted  in  using  that  horrid  oil  on  the 
floors  so  it  ruined  every  pretty  dress  she  put  on, 
she  'd  wear  any  dark  old  color  she  wanted  to." 

"She  told  him  she  'd  wear  crape  if  she  wanted 
to,"  supplemented  Miss  Stone,  "and  that  she 
felt  like  putting  it  on  when  she  thought  of  that 
ruined  blue  suit." 

"Oh,  yes,  they  say  they  had  an  awful  row. 
Hope  reminded  him  that  she  was  receiving  the 
munificent  sum  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  per 
year — after  he  told  her  she  ought  to  have  at  least 
two  good  school  suits  a  year." 

"That  finished  her  career,  of  course." 

"Oh,  yes.  He  refused  to  reappoint  her  and 
told  her  he  would  never  recommend  her  to  any 
principal.  She  understood  that  she  was  favor- 
ably considered  on  two  applications — Hope 
really  was  a  good  teacher,  you  know,  and  with 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

her  high  spirits  the  children  adore  her — but  he 
reported  against  her.  Said  her  influence  over 
the  children  was  not  good." 

"Too  bad!" 

"Of  course  she  ought  n't  to  have  Massed'  him 
so." 

"But  it  was  n't  fair." 

"It's  as  fair  as  lots  of  other  things  teachers 
have  to  put  up  with.  Of  course  she  ought  to 
have  swallowed  his  criticisms  and  worn  a  white 
shirt  waist  once  in  a  while,  or  a  red  waist, — or 
something — but  she  was  so  wxathy  over  that 
pretty  blue  suit." 

"The  real  injustice,"  remarked  one  of  the 
teachers  as  they  rose  from  the  table,  "lies  in  the 
fact  that  he  was  not  an  experienced  teacher  him- 
self, nor  a  really  capable  man.  He  owed  his 
position  chiefly  to  the  fact  that  he  was  of  the 
masculine  persuasion." 

"Let 's  all  pull  out  and  take  up  homesteads," 
said  one  tired-looking  girl.  "I  'm  tired  of 
teaching.     There  's  nothing  in  it." 

Jane  stood  surveying  the  ruined  hat  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  later  when  there  was  a  rap  at  the 
door. 

[26] 


The  Parody 


"Come  in.    Oh,  it's  you,  Mrs.  O'Brien." 

The  Irish  washerwoman,  big,  fat,  kind- 
hearted,  lumbered  in.  She  stood  looking  about 
her  abstractedly,  the  big  clothes  basket  at  her 
feet.     She  was  not  usually  so  silent. 

"It 's  been  a  rainy  day  for  you,  has  n't  it?"  said 
Rachel  kindly. 

"Yis."     Silence  again. 

"An'  it 's  bad  luck  fer  ye  to-day,  Miss  Myers," 
she  at  last  blurted  out. 

"It 's  bad  luck  all  around  for  me  to-day,  Mrs. 
O'Brien.     What 's  the  matter  now?" 

Mrs.  O'Brien  stooped  down  and  pulled  away 
the  newspaper  covering  the  basket.  Slowly  she 
pulled  out  a  dainty  drawn-work  shirtwaist  with 
three  great  holes  burned  in  the  sheer  lawn  and 
in  the  delicate  thread  work. 

"Oh!"  gasped  Jane  in  dismay.  "How  did  it 
happen?" 

"An'  shure  I  be  sorry,"  was  the  regretful 
answer. 

"Oh,  dear!    Oh,  dear!" 

The  drawn  work  represented  a  full  summer's 
work,  and  the  waist  was  Jane's  main  depend- 
ence.    A    French    laundry    might    not    have 

[27] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

burned  this  waist,  but  it  had  lost  entirely  an- 
other nice  waist  a  few  months  before,  and  Jane 
after  that  had  preferred  to  trust  the  old  Irish 
woman. 

Mrs.  O'Brien  lifted  out  one  piece  after  an- 
other, laying  each  on  the  couch  full  of  pillows. 
On  a  long  white  skirt  the  embroidery  of  the 
flounce  showed  two  big  holes.  A  pretty  cross- 
bar underwaist  had  a  big  black  burn  between 
the  shoulders. 

The  explanation  was  simple  enough  when  the 
old  washerwoman  found  her  tongue,  and  be- 
tween voluble  regrets  Jane  understood  that  Mrs. 
Mulaney's  "chimbley"  had  caught  fire  and  the 
pieces  of  burning  soot  had  fluttered  down  on  the 
clothes  on  the  line  next  door. 

But  neither  her  own  regret  nor  the  volubility 
of  Mrs.  O'Brien  helped  matters  much.  School 
work  was  thrown  aside  in  sheer  disgust  and  the 
rest  of  that  evening  Jane  spent  in  mending  and 
darning,  her  mind  full  still  of  Sally  Brooks  and 
the  day's  mishaps. 

Hair-brushing  that  night  was  a  solemn  affair 
when  bedtime  came.  In  between  the  long 
strokes  of  the  brush,  Jane  looked  at  the  burned 

[28] 


The  Parody 


clothing  and  the  ruined  hat.  "Oh,  this  ques- 
tion of  dress  on  a  small  salary,"  she  said  im- 
patiently.    "What  a  day  it  has  been!" 

She  braided  her  hair  with  a  frown. 

"Oh,  cheer  up,  Jane,"  she  said  suddenly,  as 
she  caught  sight  of  her  own  reflection.  "It 
might  be  a  good  deal  worse." 

"But  just  the  same,  Jane,  my  dear,"  she  added 
as  she  turned  out  the  light  and  raised  the  win- 
dow, listening  for  a  moment  to  the  dashing 
rain  without,  "just  the  same,  there  's  nothing  in 
teaching.  And  if  your  lane  does  n't  turn  pretty 
soon,  we  will  take  up  a  homestead,  because  our 
finances  are  too  much  like  a  kitten  chasing  its 
tail, — it's  impossible  to  make  the  two  ends 
meet." 

She  fell  asleep  dreaming  of  homesteads,  of 
vast  plains  and  then  of  deeply  forested  moun- 
tains, with  a  vision  of  steady-footed  pack  horses 
toiling  up  the  trail. 


[29] 


CHAPTER  II 

WHERE  THE  STORM  WINDS  BLOW 

TWO  months  later  Jane  Myers  brushed  her 
hair  and  turned  out  her  light  in  a  dif- 
ferent frame  of  mind,  though  the  kitten  was 
chasing  its  tail  as  energetically  as  ever.  Her 
principal  had  called  her  to  his  office  that  day 
and  offered  her  a  position,  for  which  he  had 
been  asked  to  recommend  some  one,  as  principal 
of  the  grade  school  of  La  Casa,  Colorado. 

"It  may  be  lonely  for  you,"  he  said  as  he 
studied  the  young  woman  before  him,  and  noted 
with  admiration  the  small  bunch  of  violets 
which  she  wore,  "but  it  is  a  distinct  advance  not 
only  in  position  but  in  salary.  It  pays  $1100. 
And  it  is  a  healthy  place.  I  know  physicians 
who  send  patients  there — though  there  is  no 
scenery.     It  is  right  out  on  the  plains." 

She  had  given  him  no  definite  answer  then, 
though  she  answered  herself  quite  promptly. 
"Of  course  we  will  do  it,  Jane,  because  that  kit- 

[30] 


Where  the  Storm  Winds  Blow 

ten's  activity  bothers  us.    We  can  stand  it  for 
a  few  years." 

Since  the  parody,  Jane's  interest  in  the  school 
in  which  she  had  taught  had  dropped.  The 
teachers  might  or  might  not  talk  about  her, 
speculate  about  her,  or  say  anything  they  chose. 
When  she  had  pulled  herself  together  again,  she 
did  not  much  care  whether  the  parody  was  a 
mere  coincidence  or  not.  But  it  had  broken 
into  the  cordiality  of  her  feeling  toward  them. 

So  September  came  and  with  it  Jane's  new 
work  in  La  Casa.  Inside  of  twenty-four  hours 
she  understood  and  sympathized  with  the  story 
of  a  young  man  which  had  been  told  her  by  en- 
couraging friends.  Times  had  been  hard  and 
he  had  been  out  of  a  position  for  some  weeks, 
until  he  was  offered  one  at  that  town,  with  free 
railroad  fare.  He  arrived  there  at  eleven 
o'clock  in  the  morning  and  left  on  the  return 
train  at  three  that  afternoon,  paying  his  own 
fare  home. 

Jane  understood  it  perfectly,  and  she  promptly 
buried  herself  in  her  work  as  much  as  she  could, 
looking  after  school  books,  supplies  of  all  kinds, 
learning  the  names   and  qualifications   of  her 

[31] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

teachers,  and  thoroughly  glad  of  all  the  absorb- 
ing minutiae  of  the  first  days  of  the  school  year. 
So  it  was  in  sheer  desperation  that,  when  she 
met  Miss  Potter  upon  leaving  school  one  after- 
noon of  the  first  week,  she  suggested  that  they 
take  a  walk. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Potter.  "It  is  so 
beautiful. "  Miss  Potter  looked  up  in  enthusi- 
asm at  the  new  principal.  She  had  lived  in 
that  town  all  her  life,  and  except  for  two  years 
at  the  normal  school,  knew  nothing  of  the  world 
outside  of  it.  She  "adored"  Miss  Myers,  she 
had  told  the  third  grade  teacher  that  afternoon. 
And  the  third  grade  teacher  had  smiled  and 
said,  "I  feel  surprised  every  time  she  looks  at 
me.  She  ought  to  have  brown  eyes,  not  vio- 
let ones." 

"Don't  you  love  it  here?"  asked  Miss  Potter 
as  they  started  off  from  the  school  yard.  And 
Jane,  in  the  companionship  of  the  cordial  little 
soul  whose  western  breeziness  was  like  the  fresh 
mountain  air  which  swept  over  the  plains,  was 
conscious  of  some  lightening  of  the  blank  gray 
homesickness  which  she  was  fighting.  "In 
which  direction  shall  we  go?" 

[32] 


Where  the  Storm  Winds  Blow 

"Let 's  walk  to  the  plains,"  said  Jane,  and 
both  laughed.  To  the  north  lay  the  plains,  to 
the  south,  to  the  east  and  to  the  west.  Green 
with  a  recent  rain,  they  stretched  out  end- 
less, boundless,  limitless.  Not  a  house,  not  a 
tree,  not  a  shrub — absolutely  nothing  was  there 
to  break  that  immensity  carpeted  with  short 
green  grass  and  the  low  broad  leaves  of  the 
cactus.  Toward  the  west,  beyond  the  range  of 
vision,  lay  the  barrier  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
The  open  sweep  of  the  plains  was  glorious,  yet 
she  longed  to  see  that  distant  purple  barrier. 
If  they  were  only  near  enough  so  that  she  could 
see  the  setting  sun  sink  behind  the  mountains, 
deep  blue  shadows  at  their  base,  and  the  rosy 
tinting  of  the  snowy  peaks! 

"Let's  walk  on,"  suggested  Jane  after  they 
had  passed  the  half  mile  of  plank  walks  and  the 
long  rows  of  little  one-story  houses  which  lay 
between  the  school  and  the  edge  of  the  town 
where  houses  and  sidewalks  suddenly  ended  and 
the  level  plains  began.  There  was  nothing  in 
the  town  to  explore.  Plank  sidewalks  flanked 
by  the  low  houses  arranged  in  parallel  rows 
with  cross  streets  at  proper  intervals — that  was 

l33l 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

all.  In  the  center  of  the  town  was  a  tiny  park, 
one  block  square,  fringed  with  quivering-leaved 
cottonwood  trees.  Around  the  square  were  the 
stores  and  larger  buildings  of  the  town.  Be- 
yond the  houses,  in  every  direction,  lay  the 
eternal  flatness. 

"Isn't  it  beautiful?  Don't  you  love  it?" 
asked  the  enthusiastic  Miss  Potter.  She  looked 
up  in  admiration  at  the  woman  beside  her. 
Wavy  hair  Ruth  Potter  had  always  admired — 
hair  that  waved  just  enough  to  be  fluffy  and  roll 
back  from  the  face.  Her  own,  a  lifelong 
grievance,  was  an  uncertain  brown,  straight  as 
an  Indian's,  and  no  amount  of  crimping  papers 
nor  even  a  curling  iron  would  make  it  roll  back 
as  it  should  from  the  plain  face  whose  one 
beauty  was  its  happy  expression. 

"It  is  wonderful — wonderful,  in  its  own  way. 
It  has  a  distinctive  beauty  of  its  own  but  I  love 
the  mountains."  She  looked  out  over  the 
sweep  of  green  to  the  far-off  horizon  from 
which  the  softening  light  of  dusk  was  creeping. 
From  somewhere  out  in  that  shadowy  light 
came  the  song  of  the  meadow  lark,  sweetest  of 

[34] 


Where  the  Storm  Winds  Blow 

all  singers.  Again  and  again  from  the  fading 
light  came  the  soft,  sweet  trill.  There  were 
no  shadows  on  the  plains  to  slip  along  stealthily 
in  the  twilight,  one  creeping  behind  another, 
taking  their  places  secretly,  silently,  here  behind 
a  bush  or  stone,  there  behind  a  tree,  or  under 
the  shelter  of  waving  grass,  or  among  the  rushes 
by  a  riverside.  There  was  nothing  in  all  that 
vast  expanse  to  cast  a  shadow.  Only  the  lessen- 
ing of  the  light,  the  gradual  dimming  of  the 
plain,  the  deepening  of  the  blue  autumn  mist  in 
the  vast  distances, — and  then  suddenly  the  dark 
had  crept  up  around  the  two  girls  standing  out 
there  alone  on  the  shadowy  plain.  The  song  of 
the  lark  had  ceased. 

As  they  returned  to  the  town,  Miss  Potter 
chatted  cheerfully  as  they  passed  the  houses 
from  which  lights  were  twinkling.  Here  lived 
Tommy  Jones  who  had  given  them  so  much 
trouble  the  year  before, — yonder  was  the  house 
where  the  former  principal  boarded, — there 
lived  Lizzie  Wilson  who  was  the  brightest  lit- 
tle girl  in  the  town, — all  the  endless  talk  of 
a    small    town.     But   Jane   heard   little.     The 

[35] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

beauty  of  the  plains  she  had  seen  had  for  the 
moment  banished  homesickness.  If  there  were 
only  some  mountains  in  sight! 

Many  another  walk  the  two  teachers  took 
that  fall,  before  the  November  rains  came  and 
the  winter  snows.  October  brought  days  when 
the  air  was  fresh  and  clear,  invigorating  as  air 
can  only  be  when  it  is  blown  straight  down 
through  a  sunny  sky  from  snow-capped  moun- 
tain peaks.  There  was  nothing  in  the  shaking, 
quivering,  yellow  leaves  of  the  cottonwoods  to 
give  even  a  touch  of  color  to  the  town,  though 
they  reminded  Jane  of  the  autumn  glory  of  her 
old  New  England  home,  but  the  plains  were 
something  entirely  new  with  their  endless  sweep 
of  green,  and  high  over  head  the  broad  blue 
dome  which  fitted  down  over  the  great  green 
flatness. 

"A  man  could  hide  behind  nothing  except  his 
own  shadow  out  here,"  Jane  had  remarked  one 
day.  To  which  Miss  Potter  had  answered, 
"But  on  a  baking  summer  day  he  could  n't  do 
even  that." 

Then  the  cold  rains  of  autumn  came,  and 
bridge,   embroidery,  books,   or  even  mending, 

[36] 


Where  the  Storm  Winds  Blow 

was  better  than  a  cold  walk  in  the  mud,  or  the 
dreary  trudging  along  the  plank  walks,  with  the 
bleak  plains  outstretched  before  her  and  a 
heavy  gray  sky  above  her.  Jane  took  no  more 
walks. 

And  after  winter  came,  with  its  high  winds 
and  deep  snows,  the  walk  to  and  from  school  was 
more  than  many  of  the  teachers  cared  for. 

Bleak  and  cold  and  white,  covered  deep  with 
snow,  lay  the  endless  plains.  So  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach  stretched  that  boundless  sheet 
of  unbroken  white,  grim  and  somber  under  the 
gray  skies,  blinding  in  its  whiteness  on  sunny 
days.  And  in  the  penetrating  sunlight  every 
ugly  line  in  the  houses  of  the  shabby  little  town 
was  shabbier,  every  ungraceful  curve  flaunted 
itself.  Brilliant,  cruel,  merciless,  the  sunshine 
seemed  almost  an  enemy.  The  sky  above  was  a 
blue  bowl  of  intense,  hard  blue,  not  the  soft 
radiant  blue  of  a  summer  sky.  Jane  liked  bet- 
ter the  days  when  the  skies  were  gray,  but  that 
meant  more  snow,  and  still  more  snow,  piled  in 
white  masses  through  the  streets  by  the  winds. 

There  was  little  to  interest  in  the  town — no 
music,  no  theater,  unless  one  might  misuse  the 

[37] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

term  for  a  cheap  moving  picture  show,  no  art, 
no  lectures,  few  people  of  education  or  refine- 
ment except  an  occasional  homesick  invalid, 
and  nothing  whatever  to  inspire  a  homesick 
teacher. 

She  found  that  teaching  was  no  more  congen- 
ial when  supervising  the  work  of  other  teach- 
ers, than  it  was  when  doing  the  work  herself. 
In  some  ways  it  was  more  discouraging  to  see 
others  do  so  badly  what  she  knew  she  herself 
could  have  done  well.  Some  of  the  teachers 
were  oversensitive  to  even  the  kindliest  criti- 
cisms, and,  as  is  usually  the  case,  they  were  the 
ones  who  needed  them  most. 

"It  'l  no  use,"  she  said  one  day  just  before 
Christmas,  as  she  put  on  her  wraps.  "I  was 
never  born  to  be  a  teacher  and  neither  was  I 
born  to  be  smothered  in  the  awful  slowness  of  a 
small,  sordid  town.  Give  me  the  city  or  else 
give  me  the  depths  of  a  forest.  I  am  sure  I 
don't  want  the  plains.  This  betwixt  and  be- 
tween is  too  awful." 

The  glaring  light  of  the  plains  dazzled  her, 
and  the  keen,  penetrating  sunlight  had  no  in- 
spiration for  her  as  she  turned  toward  the  post 

[38] 


W 'here  the  Storm  Winds  Blow 

office.  She  had  had  no  mail  for  a  week  for  all 
trains  were  snow-bound  in  the  high  drifts. 
Probably  the  outgoing  mail  would  be  as  badly 
delayed  as  the  incoming,  yet  she  felt  if  she 
could  send  off  her  Christmas  letters  and  pack- 
ages that  the  dating  stamp  would  explain  any 
possible  delay. 

The  general  store,  one  side  of  which  was  oc- 
cupied by  the  post  office,  was  crowded  with 
women  making  their  Saturday  purchases,  and 
with  an  idle  throng  of  men  leaning  against  bar- 
rels or  perched  on  boxes.  She  waited  her  turn 
at  the  window  impatiently,  conscious  of  a  strong 
repugnance  to  the  crowd  in  the  store.  Finally 
the  clerk  took  her  package  and  weighed  it, 
while  several  idlers  watched  her. 

"Any  mail  for  me?"  she  asked. 

"No  mail  fur  enny  body,  Miss  Myers. 
Trains  all  late." 

Jane  felt  rather  than  saw  an  idler  near  her 
start  as  her  name  was  given.  As  she  turned  to 
go  their  eyes  met.  He  recognized  her  in  a 
flash,  but  it  took  her  a  second  to  recognize  the 
dissipated  face  and  shifty  eyes  of  this  man  in 
the  loud-checked  suit.     For  an  instant  she  was 

[39] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

too  stunned  to  move.  The  man  mistook  her 
start. 

"Why — er — hello,"  he  said,  half  offering  a 
dirty  hand. 

Without  even  a  glance,  Jane  turned  and 
passed  out  of  the  store,  followed  by  the  curious 
gaze  of  the  entire  crowd. 

Panic-stricken,  yet  white-hot  with  anger, 
eyes  flashing  and  lips  compressed,  the  principal 
struggled  up  the  snowy  street  to  her  boarding 
house.  Once  in  her  room,  she  faced  her  reflec- 
tion in  the  glass.     Then  she  spoke  firmly. 

"This  ends  any  possibility,  Jane,  of  your 
keeping  this  position.  Next  year  you  will  be 
somewhere  else  than  in  La  Casa.  Now  don't 
let  me  hear  another  word  about  this.  Do  you 
understand?" 

One  might  readily  have  thought  she  was  talk- 
ing so  sternly  to  something  else  than  a  reflec- 
tion in  a  mirror. 

The  talk  at  dinner  that  night  drifted  to 
ranch  life  and  homesteading.  The  landlady 
had  a  guest  who  had  taken  up  a  quarter  section 
near  the  mountains  and  was  developing  a  fine 
ranch.     Her  son  had  taken  up   the   adjoining 

[40] 


Where  the  Storm  Winds  Blow 

homestead  so  they  worked  the  two  places  to- 
gether. 

"They's  lots  er  wimmen  doin'  it,"  she  as- 
serted, "and  making  money  out  of  it.  My 
ranch  ain't  cost  me  nuthin'  'cept  living  on  it  five 
years  and  a  little  stock,  and  I  reckon  I  'm  wuth 
two  or  three  thousand  dollars  now.  Ye 
could  n't  make  thet  in  five  years  teachin'  school," 
she  added,  turning  to  Jane. 

"I  should  think  not,"  was  Jane's  prompt 
answer.  "I  'm  so  tired  of  teaching  that  I  've 
sometimes  thought  of  taking  up  a  homestead 
myself — that  is,  thought  of  it  vaguely.  It's  a 
wild  idea  for  me,  I  'm  afraid." 

"An'  why  is  it  wild?     I  done  it." 

"I  don't  like  the  plains.  I  get  tired  of  the 
flatness.  I  'd  want  to  be  up  in  the  mountains, 
among  the  trees." 

"Sure.  Mis'  Lawson,  she  took  up  a  home- 
stead on  a  timber  claim.  She  reckons  her 
timber 's  worth  about  three  thousand  dollars. 
She  jes'  sat  down  on  it  fur  five  years — but  she 
war  n't  really  thar  mor  'n  two." 

"She  could  n't  do  that  now,  could  she — with- 
out  commuting?     You   see,"   Jane   added,    "I 

[41] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

have  a  friend  who  has  taken  up  a  homestead 
and  she  's  written  me  a  good  deal  about  it." 

"Guv'ment  's  stricter  now — some  stricter," 
answered  her  landlady. 

"You  'd  have  to  live  there  now,  would  n't  you, 
to  prove  up  on  it?" 

"A  little,  mebbe— but  shucks!" 

"Is  it  really  possible,"  asked  Jane  after  a  few 
moments'  thought,  "for  a  woman  to  take  up  a 
homestead  in  the  forest  and  live  there  for  five 
years — and  do  it  in  safety?" 

"Sure.  Did  n't  I  jes'  tell  you  'bout  Mis'  Law- 
son?  Ain't  I  done  it?  Course  I  'm  on  the 
plains,  but  she  's  in  the  timber." 

Jane  brushed  out  her  hair  that  night  in  a  very 
thoughtful  mood.  The  approach  of  Christmas 
made  her  homesick,  and  the  far-reaching 
stretches  of  endless  white  depressed  her.  The 
children  and  teachers  were  restless,  planning 
for  the  holidays,  and  a  spirit  of  unrest  pervaded 
the  air.  The  situation  had  been  doubtful 
enough,  but  the  sudden  appearance  of  Ed  Brent 
had  ended  any  possibility  of  staying  in  La 
Casa.  "And  I  am  so  tired  of  teaching,"  she 
sighed  as  she  slipped  into  bed. 

[42] 


Where  the  Storm  Winds  Blow 

"Miss  Myers,"  said  Ruth  Potter  in  a  fright- 
ened tone  one  evening  as  they  bundled  up  for 
the  walk  home,  "who  is  that  man?" 

"What  man?" 

"The  one  who  hangs  around  the  school  so 
much?" 

"I  have  n't  seen  him.  I  don't  know.  What 
sort  of  looking  man?    What  does  he  do?" 

Jane  suddenly  wished  she  were  only  a  teacher, 
with  a  man  principal. 

"I  don't  know.  He  just  hangs  around. 
There  he  is  I" 

Jane  turned  quickly,  only  to  see  the  vague  out- 
lines of  a  man  walking  in  the  other  direction. 

"It 's  too  dark  to  see  clearly.  He  is  probably 
the  father  of  some  of  the  children." 

"I  don't  believe  so,"  said  Miss  Potter  de- 
cidedly.    "But  I  can't  see  what  he  wants." 

There  was  a  well-defined  fear  in  Jane's  mind 
as  to  who  the  man  might  be. 

"Suppose  you  wait  for  me,"  she  said  after  a 
moment,  "so  that  we  always  walk  home  to- 
gether. He  'd  hardly  address  two  women — if 
that 's  what  he  is  up  to." 

A  blizzard  was  more  serious  than  "something 

[43] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

inside  of  a  hen,"  Jane  thought  one  February 
night  as  she  left  the  schoolhouse  alone.  She 
had  stayed  later  than  usual  and  Miss  Potter  had 
gone  at  noon.  She  bent  her  head  to  the  wind, 
pulling  down  her  fur  cap  as  far  as  it  would  come 
over  her  hair,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  fur 
collar.  But  still  the  snowy  needles  stung  her 
face  and  rilled  her  eyes.  It  was  half  past  five, 
and  dark  except  for  the  light  of  the  snow.  The 
day  at  school  had  been  a  miserable  one.  The 
high  wind  had  blown  in  a  west  window  and  had 
frightened  the  children  half  to  death.  None 
had  been  hurt, — she  was  thankful  for  that. 
Though  one  or  two  had  been  struck  by  the  fly- 
ing glass,  still  the  only  damage  had  been  slight 
cuts  in  their  clothing.  But  it  had  taken  hard 
work  to  put  away  the  books  and  supplies,  blown 
all  over  the  room  by  the  wind,  until  the  janitor 
could  nail  boards  over  the  window. 

She  hurried  along  through  the  deep  snow, 
stepping  aside  from  the  drifts,  noting  little  in 
the  storm  until  she  became  conscious  through 
some  alert  sense,  that  she  was  being  followed. 
She  remembered,  now  that  she  thought  of  it,  as 
she  turned  the  corner  near  the  school  she  had 

[44] 


Where  the  Storm  Winds  Blow 

seen  a  man  on  the  other  side  of  the  street.  She 
hurried  on,  floundering  through  the  storm,  con- 
scious that  he  was  coming  closer  and  closer  un- 
til she  turned  the  corner  near  her  boarding 
house.  He  would  hardly  follow  her  farther. 
It  was  only  a  moment  then  until  she  opened  the 
door  and  was  greeted  by  friendly  voices. 

"Come  in.  We  Ve  been  saving  the  warmest 
corner  for  you." 

"Let  me  take  off  your  coat." 

"No  school,  to-morrow.  That's  sure.  The 
children  can  never  get  through  this  blizzard." 

In  the  warmth  and  friendliness,  Jane  put 
aside  her  fears.  The  idea  of  any  man  follow- 
ing her  through  such  a  storm!  It  was  probably 
some  one  who  lived  near  and  had  to  come  her 
way. 

"The  bean  soup  is  burned,  but  I  can't  help  it," 
declared  her  landlady  at  dinner.  "This  new 
girl 's  got  a  follower,  and  her  head 's  thet 
turned!" 

"Miss  Myers  had  a  follower  to-night.  See  if 
her  head  is  turned,"  laughed  one  of  the  teach- 
ers. 

Jane  started.  "Was  that  man  following  me?" 
[45] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

she  demanded  a  little  sharply,  "or  was  he  just 
coming  up  this  street?" 

"He  was  following  you,  Miss  Myers,"  said 
the  teacher,  more  seriously.  "He  was  close  be- 
hind you  and  when  he  saw  where  you  turned  in, 
he  tried  to  see  the  number  of  the  house.  It  was 
under  the  snow,  of  course.  Then  he  looked  up 
and  down  the  street  as  though  trying  to  fix  the 
location  in  his  mind." 

"Miss  Myers  has  made  a  hit,"  laughed  an- 
other, seeing  that  Jane  was  a  little  alarmed. 

"I  don't  like  being  followed,"  Jane  pro- 
tested.    "It  frightens  me." 

"I  think  it  is  that  man  who  has  been  hanging 
around  the  school,  Miss  Myers." 

"There's  no  occasion  for  alarm,"  said  Mrs. 
Graham  kindly,  as  she  poured  out  the  muddy 
coffee. 

"But  any  man  who  'd  follow  a  woman  eight 
blocks  through  such  a  storm  as  this — he  must 
have  some  motive."  Jane  was  thoroughly 
alarmed. 

"I  saw  him  one  day — if  he  's  that  man  that 
I  Ve  met  once  or  twice  near  the  school,"  said  one 
of  the  teachers.     "I  think  his  name  is  Brent. 

[46] 


Where  the  Storm  Winds  Blow 

He  1%  a  professional  gambler,  Jim  Howard  told 
me  once.  He  pointed  him  out.  Miss  Myers, 
if  he  bothers  you,  Jim  Howard  will  settle  him. 
Jim  's  afraid  of  nobody.  He  can  lay  out  any 
man  in  town." 

"If  he  ever  does  address  me,"  said  Jane  grate- 
fully, "believe  me,  I  '11  be  only  too  glad  to  have 
your  Mr.  Howard  'lay  him  out.'  " 

After  dinner  in  her  own  room  a  few  weeks 
later,  Jane  sat  writing  letters.  One  was  to 
Hope  Denham,  and  a  few  sentences  in  it  read  as 
follows : 

"I  can't  stand  teaching  school  another  year. 
Your  example  has  unsettled  me  for  this  life  of 
grind,  and  as  soon  as  school  is  out  in  the  spring, 
I  am  coming  to  visit  you.  I  find  it  is  not  by  any 
means  impossible  for  a  woman  to  take  up  a 
homestead  in  the  forest,  and  I  have  written  Sue 
Fairfax  to  ask  Bert  to  select  some  sort  of  a  claim 
for  me  in  the  Northwest.  I  would  rather  be 
in  Washington,  I  think,  than  in  Idaho  or  Ore- 
gon. They  live  in  Spokane  and  I  think  I 
should  feel  nearer  to  them  if  I  were  in  the  same 


state." 


[47] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

But  to  Sue  Fairfax,  after  a  discussion  of 
homesteads  and  homesteading,  Jane  wrote: 

"So  you  see,  Sue,  I  cannot  stay  here  another 
year.  He  never  spoke  to  me  but  he  followed 
me  until  I  was  nearly  wild.  Then  a  Mr. 
Howard,  a  raw-boned  young  giant,  engaged  to 
one  of  the  teachers,  warned  him  that  if  he 
followed  me  again  or  endeavored  to  speak 
to  me,  that  he  would  thrash  him  thoroughly. 
Since  then,  he  has  left  me  alone.  I  am  not 
afraid  of  him,  Sue,  you  know,  but  I  feel  dis- 
graced. Not  that  he  jilted  me  as  he  did — how 
thankful  I  am  he  did, — but  that  he  has  it  in 
his  power  to  say  that  he  was  once  engaged  to 
me!  You  can  see  where  that  would  put  the 
principal  in  a  petty  town  like  this!  I  am 
nearly  worn  out  from  the  nervous  strain  of  my 
own  fears.  And,  anyway,  I  could  not  stay  in 
this  joyless  town.  For  six  weeks  in  the  fall  it 
is  glorious.  Then  it 's  heavy  rains,  with  streets 
bottomless  in  mud,  high  winds,  blizzards  and 
snow,  snow!  In  the  spring  it  is  melting  snow, 
flooded  streets,  water  to  your  shoe  tops,  more 
bottomless  pits  of  mud,  fearless  gales,  a  few 
glorious  days,  and  then  warm  weather.     If  one 

[48] 


Where  the  Storm  Winds  Blow 

could  live  on  an  elevated  platform  and  escape 
the  snow  and  water  and  mud,  there  are  seasons 
which  would  be  beautiful,  but  you  can't  see  sun- 
shine with  bedraggled  skirts  and  soaking  feet. 
And  this  Brent  business  settles  it  all.  So  I  want 
Bert  to  get  me  a  homestead.  I  'm  going  to  visit 
Hope  Denham  as  soon  as  school  is  out,  and  then 
I  am  coming  to  visit  you,  my  twin.  You  've  in- 
vited me  often  enough,  but  I  have  always  been 
clear  across  the  continent." 


[49] 


CHAPTER  III 

BEGINNINGS 

Spokane,  August  17. 
Dear  Hope: 

Here  I  am,  so  far  on  my  way,  thanks  to  your 
example  and  encouragement.  But  if  you 
could  hear  the  opposition  of  the  Fairfaxes! 
Bert  and  Sue  both  knew  all  about  that  broken 
engagement  ten  years  ago,  and  yet  Bert  turned 
to  me  with  a  calm : 

"Jane,  why  don't  you  marry?  You  used  to  be 
the  belle  of  the  town." 

Is  n't  that  just  like  a  man?  I  told  him  that  I 
had  had  my  day,  that  I  had  been  disillusioned, 
and  that  I  wanted  to  live  my  own  life.  But  the 
conversation  went  right  around  in  a  circle, — 
this  way: 

Bert:  "But  I  cannot  see  why  a  young,  good- 
looking  woman  should  want  to  bury  herself  on 
a  homestead." 

[50] 


Beginnings 


Jane:  "I  'm  not  so  very  young.  I  'm  nearly 
twenty-nine." 

Bert  indignantly:  "I'm  thirty-three  and  I 
call  myself  young." 

Jane :  "And  I  'm  not  particularly  good  look- 
ing, only  my  hair  is  wavy  and  my  eyes  don't 
match  my  complexion.  (I  'm  so  tired  of  being 
told  I  ought  to  have  brown  eyes.)  And  I  have 
to  earn  my  living  somehow." 

"I  think  you  could  get  a  good  position  in  the 
schools  here." 

"I  don't  want  to  teach.  I  'm  tired  of  teach- 
ing." 

"Jane,  why  don't  you  marry?" 

"Because  I  don't  want  to.  I  could  never 
trust  any  man  again." 

"He  was  a  cad.  You  're  wrong  to  mourn 
over  that." 

"Mourn/  When  I  think  what  a  narrow  es- 
cape I  had  it  takes  my  breath  away!" 

Then  Sue  would  break  in:  "Jane,  dear, 
you  'd  be  so  much  happier  married." 

"Men  like  Bert  don't  grow  on  every  bush, 
you  know.     I  don't  want  to  marry." 

[5i] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Sue:  "And  you  admit  you  have  refused  two 
eligible  men  in  the  last  five  years ?" 

Jane:  "Yes — because  I  want  to  live  my  own 
life." 

Bert,  in  a  horrified  tone:  "Heavens! 
You  're  not  one  of  these  woman's  rights  women, 
are  you?" 

He  looked  so  disgusted. 

Jane:  "I  Ve  given  precious  little  thought  to 
woman's  rights.  I  don't  care  a  rap  about  vot- 
ing, but  I  want  to  live  my  own  life.  And  I  have 
a  right  to  do  it." 

"What  sort  of  men  were  these  you  refused?" 

"Attractive,  educated — every  one  spoke  well 
of  them.  We  were  good  friends — but  that  was 
all." 

"They  cared  for  you?" 

"They  were  quite  emphatic  in  their  asser- 
tions." 

"Be  honest.  Are  n't  you  sorry  you  refused 
both  of  them?" 

"No.  Not  a  bit.  I  don't  want  to  discuss 
marriage,  please." 

Then  Bert  would  change  his  tactics.  He 
must  have  had  two  hundred  and  twenty-seven 

[52] 


Beginnings 


friends  who  had  taken  up  homesteads,  judging 
from  the  stories  he  told  me,  and  the  more  at- 
tractive the  homestead,  the  greater  the  dangers. 
Then  he  would  begin  a  front  attack  again : 

"It's  wild,  utterly  wild,  Jane.  If  you  were 
a  farmer's  daughter — " 

Jane:     "I  am," 

Bert:  "I  mean  accustomed  to  heavy  work 
and  a  rough  life.  Then  it  would  be  different. 
Then  you  might  weather  it.  But  think  what  it 
means  for  you,  an  educated,  city-trained  wom- 
an, to  live  in  a  rough  log  cabin  in  the  forest, 
bringing  in  every  bucket  of  water  from  a  spring 
or  a  creek,  breaking  the  ice  in  winter,  perhaps, 
with  wolves  howling  around  your  cabin  at  night, 
cougars  screaming,  snow  ten  to  twenty  feet,  bear 
tracks  all  too  evident — " 

"I  thought  bears  hibernated  during  the  win- 
ter." 

I  had  him  there.     Then  I  added. 

"It  will  be  the  greatest  fun  to  learn  to  walk 
on  snowshoes.  And  if  cougars  roost  in  my 
trees  I  '11  shoo  them  off.  I  '11  go  ski-ing  down 
the  hills  at  the  rate  of  two  miles  a  minute,  and 
I  '11—" 

[53] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Bert:     "I  'm  serious.     Please  talk  sense." 

Jane :  "I  'm  serious,  too.  Other  women  take 
up  homesteads." 

"But— " 

"And  some  of  them  are  teachers." 

"Yes,  but—" 

"Why  can't  I  do  what  other  women  do — and 
glory  in?" 

"Because — " 

"Did  n't  you  read  that  article  in  this  month's 
'Northwestern'  on  Women  Ranchers  in  the 
Northwest,' — and  it  gave  photographs  of  the 
women,  strong,  happy,  successful,  too." 

"Hang  it!  The  chap  who  wrote  that  never 
saw  a  woman  homesteader,  I  '11  bet.  Never  was 
on  a  homestead — does  n't  know  what  one  looks 
like.  You  know  how  magazine  articles  are 
written." 

"I  intend  to  take  up  a  homestead." 

And  that 's  the  way  the  argument  ended. 

After  I  had  gone  to  my  room  that  night, 
though,  Ted  began  to  cry  a  little  and  I  slipped 
into  his  room  to  quiet  him.  As  I  came  into  the 
hall — I  had  turned  out  the  light  because  it  was 

[54] 


Beginnings 


moonlight — Bert  and  Sue  came  up  the  stairs.  I 
heard  Bert  say: 

"Sue,  it  can't  be  that  Jane  is  one  of  these  aw- 
ful, strong-minded  women!  Why,  she  talks  like 
a  man  hater!  She'll  be  one  of  these  woman's 
rights  women,  first  thing  we  know." 

Sue  said :  "No-o.  I  could  n't  believe  that  of 
Jane.  I  think  she  simply  has  n't  met  the  right 
man." 

"She  's  likely  to  meet  him  on  a  homestead  in 
the  forest,  isn't  she?  Swede  wood-chopper! 
Humph!  And  if  she  takes  up  a  homestead 
she  '11  be  there  five  years — until  she  is  thirty- 
three." 

Sue's  voice  sounded  a  little  worried. 

"She  might  commute.  She  has  that  little 
legacy  from  her  mother  and — " 

Then  their  door  shut. 

You  know,  Hope,  that  I  'm  not  a  man  hater, 
though  I  went  through  enough  with  Ed  Brent 
to  make  me  one.  But  I  like  men  as  com- 
rades— as  friends — and  I  have  n't  any  intention 
of  marrying.  Besides,  I  never,  never  could 
stand  it  to  have  a  man  tell  me  what  I  could 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

or  could  not  do.  And  neither  would  I  ever 
marry  a  man  who  would  let  me  do  the  bossing. 
I  could  n't  respect  him.  So  it 's  better  not  to 
marry  and  perhaps  land  in  a  divorce  court.  I 
do  not  think  I  am  really  "strong-minded" 
though  I  know  I  seem  very  independent,  be- 
cause no  woman  can  meet  the  world  year  after 
year  and  not  have  a  little  air  of  decision, — call 
it  determination,  if  you  like, — that  she  would 
not  get  in  a  sweet,  happy  home.  But  I  can't 
stand  dictation. 

Bert  wound  up  by  writing  to  a  friend  of  his, 
a  mill  owner  in  Illahee,  asking  him  if  there  were 
any  desirable  homestead  claims  in  his  section. 
This  Mr.  Burnham  wrote  back  that  there  was 
one.  It  had  been  taken  by  some  Irishman  while 
it  was  still  outside  the  forest  reserve,  and  then 
the  reserve  lines  were  extended  and  took  him  in, 
as  well  as  an  old  lady  who  has  the  next  claim 
and  has  already  proved  up  on  hers.  Mr.  Burn- 
ham  said  he  could  get  the  relinquishment  for 
me  before  the  new  law  goes  into  effect.  Under 
the  new  law  I  could  not  do  this.  The  frequent 
changes  in  laws  and  in  the  lines  of  the  reserves 
are  rather  confusing,  so  they  say.     Anyway,  I 

[56] 


Beginnings 


have  this  one  extraordinary  chance  of  getting  a 
homestead  claim  if  I  want  it,  so  I  nabbed  it. 

I  leave  here  the  last  of  August  for  Tyee — 
that 's  a  larger  town — and  I  transfer  to  a  local 
line  which  runs  out  to  Illahee.  It 's  just  a  saw- 
mill town  among  the  forests  and  I  know  it  will 
be  very  picturesque.     Then  for  my  homestead! 

I  had  a  beautiful  visit  with  Sue.  She  cer- 
tainly is  happy  and  the  children  are  little 
dears.  I  told  you  once,  I  think,  that  Sue  and  I 
were  born  on  the  same  day  in  the  same  town, 
and  our  mothers  were  close  friends,  so  Sue  and  I 
have  always  called  ourselves  twins.  But  just 
now  she  thinks  I  ought  to  get  married.     I  don't. 

Your  friend, 

Jane. 

Illahee,  September  i. 
Dear  Hope: 

I  Ve  been  in  this  town  just  twenty-three  hours, 
but  I  'm  not  nearly  so  sure  about  things  as  I  was. 
I  Ve  got  to  do  something — quick — so  I  am  writ- 
ing you. 

I  came  to  Illahee,  via  Tyee,  and  reached  here 
last  night — Saturday.     That  was  a  mistake,  for 

[57] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Sunday  in  a  strange  place  is  depressing.  Mr. 
Burnham  was  to  be  here  Monday  morning,  and 
I  did  n't  want  to  come  in  Sunday  evening,  but 
how  I  wish  I  had! 

I  had  engaged  a  room,  but  when  I  was  shown 
it — the  less  said  the  better.  It  was  exactly  like 
the  descriptions  in  novels  of  hotels  in  a  frontier 
town.  I  thought  the  great  American  frontier 
was  gone.  Certainly  the  hotels  have  not.  The 
building  is  a  two-story  frame,  flush  with  the 
street  except  for  a  narrow,  dirty,  grimy,  tobacco- 
juice-stained  porch,  which  runs  the  length  of  the 
building.  The  shirt-sleeved  men  lounging  in 
the  chairs  with  feet  on  the  railing  were  not  in 
the  least  the  traditional  western  heroes,  and  they 
stared  at  me  until  I  blushed  behind  my  veil.  I 
gave  my  name  and  asked  for  my  room  and  got 
another  long  stare  from  the  clerk.  He  was  also 
in  shirt  sleeves. 

He  took  my  suit  case  and  walked  up  narrow, 
dirty  stairs  to  the  second  story.  A  long  hall 
ran  from  one  end  of  the  building  to  the  other, 
bordered  by  rows  of  cells.  I  was  given  the 
corner  one,  with  a  view  on  a  saloon  on  the  side 
and  a  row  of  cheap  stores  opposite.     And  the 

[58] 


Beginnings 


room!  No  description  could  ever  do  justice  to 
it.  Now  this  is  the  truth.  The  walls  were  cov- 
ered with  faded  blue  paper,  bright  in  tone  in 
spite  of  the  fading,  with  an  immense  sprawling 
vine  on  it.  The  ceiling,  figured  in  big  geo- 
metrical patterns,  was  of  a  bright  purplish  blue, 
and  the  carpet  gloried  in  big  red  roses.  Torn 
green  shades  at  the  low  windows,  with  dirty 
white  sash  curtains — that  completes  the  room. 
No,  it  does  n't  either,  for  the  furniture  was  of 
that  unspeakable  cheap  pine.  It  fairly  made 
me  dizzy  to  look  at  this  complication  of  varying 
figures  in  two  shades  of  blue  with  those  big  red 
roses.  That's  why  I  am  writing  you.  If  it 
were  only  Monday  morning. 

It  was  too  warm  to  stay  in  the  house  to-day  so 
I  did  start  out  this  morning  to  go  to  church,  but 
when  I  saw  the  dreary-looking  place,  I  turned 
away  and  went  on  a  walk. 

The  town  nestles  low  between  two  mountains, 
east  and  west.  On  the  south  the  hills  are  much 
lower,  and  to  the  north,  or  from  the  north,  comes 
the  Illahee  river,  winding  down  between  the 
mountains.  I  walked  to  a  point  where  I  could 
see  up  the  valley,  blue  with  haze.     One  moun- 

[59] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

tain  after  another  jutted  out,  forested  from  top 
to  bottom,  and  far  in  the  distance  I  could  catch 
the  top  of  a  mountain  tipped  with  snow.  I  'd 
be  in  sight  of  a  mountain  peak  from  my  claim, 
I  believe,  if  it  were  not  that  the  forest  cuts  off 
my  view. 

Up  and  down  the  valley  there  was  no  sign 
of  human  habitation,  or  even  the  ax.  The 
forests  were  as  endless  as  the  plains.  But  close 
to  the  town  the  trees  have  been  cut,  leaving  great 
stretches  bristling  with  ugly  stumps  and  forlorn 
debris.  I  passed  several  such  stretches  of  de- 
forested land  on  my  way  out,  and  a  more  cheer- 
less, depressing  sight  I  never  saw.  The  land 
had  been  "skinned/'  as  they  say,  and  simply  left 
to  go  to  ruin.  There  ought  to  be  a  law  against 
such  logging,  for  it  ruins  the  country  in  every 
way.  And  besides,  if  a  match  happens  to  get 
in  its  work  in  such  a  mass  of  debris,  or  the  sparks 
from  an  engine,  the  fire  usually  spreads  into  the 
standing  timber,  and  makes  a  destructive  blaze 
there  besides  killing  off  all  the  new  growth  on 
the  land  already  cut.  I  '11  believe  anything  I 
ever  hear  about  the  Americans  being  a  wasteful 

[60] 


Beginnings 


people  after  what  I  Ve  seen  of  these  "skinned" 
lands. 

Monday  evening. 
Mr.  Burnham  came  this  morning,  so  I  '11  add 
this  to  my  letter  of  yesterday.  I  had  a  short 
talk  with  him  in  the  close,  hot,  stuffy  hotel 
parlor.  He  is  very  much  a  gentleman,  very 
thoughtful  and  considerate.  He  is  about  Bert's 
age,  rather  small,  wiry,  dark  hair,  eyes  nearly 
black,  a  very  pleasant  face,  tanned  very  brown. 
I  fancy  he  has  a  keen  sense  of  humor.  He  told 
me  all  about  my  homestead.  My  cabin  is  being 
built  as  near  as  possible  to  Mrs.  Patton's — the 
old  lady  who  has  proved  up  on  her  claim, — but 
there  is  a  stream  between.  The  cabin  of  the 
man  from  whom  I  bought  the  relinquishment 
was  in  a  sort  of  natural  meadow  which  forms 
about  one-third  of  my  hundred  and  sixty  acres. 
He  took  the  liberty,  he  said,  of  deciding  upon 
the  other  location  though  it  is  right  in  among 
the  trees,  in  order  to  have  me  near  Mrs.  Patton. 
That  is  just  what  I  wanted,  you  know, — to  be 
in  among  the  trees.     I  am  going  out  with  him 

E6i] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Wednesday  morning,  though  the  cabin  is  not 
yet  finished.  He  said  Mrs.  Patton  would  take 
me  in. 

After  he  went,  with  forty-eight  hours  of  this 
ghastly  idleness  ahead  of  me,  I  started  to  ex- 
plore the  town.  Everywhere  it  is  as  ugly  as 
original  sin.  There  is  n't  a  picturesque  thing 
about  it.  The  crude  rawness  of  the  town,  its 
roughly  built  shacks,  stores  with  false  fronts  to 
give  an  impression  of  height,  and  the  grim  dev- 
astation immediately  surrounding  it — I  never 
imagined  there  could  be  such  force  in  that  old 
saying  that  God  made  the  country  and  man 
made  the  town. 

The  sawmills  are  just  north  of  the  town  on  the 
edge  of  a  pond,  or  tiny  lake,  made  by  damming 
the  river  just  under  the  clumsy,  primitive  log 
bridge.  On  one  side  of  the  bridge  is  the 
rippling  river,  though  it  is  low  now,  but  on  the 
other  is  this  quiet  pond  in  which  the  logs 
float.  The  logs  are  enormous,  but  everything 
out  here  is  on  such  a  big  scale.  This  after- 
noon I  went  over  to  the  sawmill  and  watched 
the  machinery.  It  was  fascinating  to  follow 
the   unbroken    stream    of   sawdust   and   small 

[62] 


Beginnings 


bits  of  wood  which  fall  from  the  conveyor 
on  the  great  sawdust  heap  which  burns  day  and 
night,  year  in  and  year  out,  sending  up  a  cloud 
of  thick,  blue  smoke.  I  like  the  fragrance  of 
the  burning  wood,  even  if  it  is  rather  pungent. 
I  kept  out  of  the  way  of  the  belts,  but  it  was 
the  greatest  fun  watching  them  saw  the  big  logs, 
five  or  six  feet  in  diameter,  into  boards.  They 
saw  first  on  one  side,  then  an  iron  arm,  called 
the  "nigger"  turns  the  log  over,  until  they  al- 
most square  it.  The  music  of  the  town  is  the 
whirl  and  hum  and  buzz  of  the  flashing  saws, 
with  the  occasional  hissing  of  escaping  steam. 
It  was  a  busy  picture  and  really  very  interesting. 
I  wandered  over  to  the  schoolhouse  to  see  if 
I  might  scratch  up  an  acquaintance  with  any  of 
the  teachers,  but  found  that  school  did  not  open 
until  next  Monday.  I  shall  spend  to-morrow 
watching  the  sawmill,  for  lack  of  anything  bet- 
ter to  do,  and  my  evening  writing  letters. 
Wednesday  morning  I  'm  off  for  the  homestead. 
I  feel  much  better  since  I  met  Mr.  Burnham. 
The  fact  that  he  knows  Bert  makes  me  feel  ac- 
quainted with  him.  He  is  part  owner  of  one  of 
the  mills  here. 

I  63] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Did  I  tell  you  the  streets  are  paved  with  saw- 
dust? Everything  here  has  the  fragrance  of 
freshly  sawed  lumber. 

Despite  Bert's  predictions,  I  know  I  am  go- 
ing to  be  happier  on  my  claim  than  teaching 
school,  and  I  feel  so  thankful  to  you  for  putting 
me  in  the  notion  of  it. 

With  love, 

Jane. 


[64] 


CHAPTER  IV 

ON  THE  TRAIL 

**  A  RE  you  all  right  now?"  asked  Burnham. 

-fcT*  He  had  just  finished  shortening  a  stir- 
rup for  Jane,  and  he  glanced  up  at  her  cu- 
riously as  she  sat  a-top  a  small  cayuse  pony,  not 
altogether  certain  whether  or  not  the  tricky  little 
beast  would  allow  her  to  finish  her  journey  in 
safety.  He  gave  a  final  pull  to  the  cinch  band,  a 
final  glance  at  the  khaki-clad  figure,  and  then 
sprang  on  his  own  horse. 

"Your  horse's  name  is  Dempsey,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"And  yours?"     She  patted  Dempsey's  head. 

"Bob.    Now.    All  ready!" 

"You  are  sure  you  have  everything?"  he  asked 
again,  as  they  turned  away  from  the  staring 
group  on  the  porch. 

"I  think  so." 

"Your  revolver's  in  your  saddle  bag?" 

"Yes.    Will  I  need  to  take  it  out?" 
[6S] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"Not  this  morning.  I  have  mine,  you  see. 
The  bears  have  plenty  of  berries  at  this  season 
and  we  are  not  likely  to  meet  any  other  wild 
animals." 

The  soft  thud  of  the  ponies'  feet  resounded  on 
the  sawdust-paved  streets  as  they  turned  toward 
the  bridge.  The  golden  glow  of  the  dust  struck 
out  by  her  pony  in  the  golden  light  of  that  morn- 
ing in  early  September  was  a  picture  Jane  never 
forgot. 

Down  the  straggling  street,  bordered  by  the 
tiny  log  cabins  or  the  one-story  shacks  of  board, 
to  the  rough  corduroy  bridge  which  spanned 
the  Illahee,  they  rode  in  silence.  Jane  paused 
a  moment  on  the  bridge.  On  one  side  was  the 
rushing  stream,  still  swirling  and  purling  over 
the  rocks,  still  managing  to  give  an  impression 
of  white  foam  and  of  danger  though  the  snows 
had  long  since  melted  in  the  summer  sun.  On 
the  other  side,  in  the  pool  formed  by  the 
crude  dam,  floated  the  logs,  three  to  six  feet 
in  diameter,  besides  a  few  of  smaller  size.  The 
chained  logs  which  enclosed  the  boom  floated 
lazily  on  the  pond  while  the  shriek  of  the  saws 
and  the  humming  of  the  great  whirling  belts 

166] 


On  the  Trail 


broke  the  stillness.  Blue  smoke  rose  to-day  as 
always,  day  and  night,  from  the  ever-burning 
heap  of  smoldering  sawdust,  though  now  and 
then  the  small  ends  carried  by  the  conveyor  lent 
a  blaze  to  the  pile. 

Across  the  bridge  was  a  good  road,  through 
a  section  where  logging  was  still  carried  on. 
Far  down  below  them,  the  donkey  engine  was 
dragging  huge  logs  to  the  rollway,  tumbling 
them  with  a  mighty  splash  into  the  river,  to  be 
floated  down  to  the  mill. 

They  rode  in  silence  for  the  first  few  miles, 
through  the  logged-off  land  and  then  in  the  for- 
est. As  the  road  suddenly  rounded  the  shoulder 
of  a  mountain,  they  came  in  full  view  of  the 
glorious  peak,  white  with  snow,  shining  against 
the  deep  blue  sky  above.  Far  below  ran  the 
silvery  river,  gleaming  here  and  there  between 
the  dark  sides  of  the  densely  forested  lower 
mountains.  As  they  paused  to  look  through  the 
fresh  air  came  the  acrid  smoke  of  burning  wood. 
There  was  a  slight  fire  below  them,  around  the 
mountain's  shoulder.  "Of  no  consequence,"  he 
said  as  he  noticed  her  startled  look.  Then 
they  rode  on  again.     Shortly  beyond,  the  road 

[67] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

ended  and  a  trail  began.  Burnham  talked  a  lit- 
tle now  and  then,  but  Jane  was  rather  silent. 
One  fact  stared  her  in  the  face ;  that  she  was  now 
taking  what  seemed  to  be  an  irrevocable  step. 
At  any  time  during  the  preceding  week  she 
could  have  sold  her  goods  and  returned  to  the 
cozy  home  of  Sue  Fairfax.  Now  she  was  on 
her  way  to  her  claim,  twenty  miles  out  from  this 
little  sawmill  town,  and  without  a  horse  it 
would  be  difficult  to  return.  Was  she  making  a 
mistake?  Was  Bert  Fairfax  right?  And  Mr. 
Burnham!  She  remembered  how  surprised  he 
was  when  he  found  she  was  going  to  take  up  a 
homestead  in  the  forest.  He  had  even  hinted 
rather  broadly  that  it  was  a  risky  thing  for  her  to 
do.  But  why  risky  for  her  if  other  women — 
other  teachers — did  it? 

*  "You  are  sure  Mrs.  Patton  will  not  object  to 
my  staying  with  her  until  my  cabin  is  built?" 
she  asked  suddenly. 

"No,  not  at  all.  She  is  very  glad  to  make  a 
little  money  by  doing  for  those  who  happen 
along  in  her  direction — though  that  is  chiefly 
Goss  and  myself.     Goss  is  forest  ranger  of  this 

[68] 


On  the  Trail 


district  and  his  headquarters  are  several  miles 
beyond  Mrs.  Pattern's.  When  he  is  passing 
there,  or  comes  in  off  a  long  trip  he  goes  down 
there  for  meals.  I  have  an  old  cabin  be- 
yond there,  too."  Then  added  a  moment  later, 
"Your  cabin  must  be  almost  finished.  The  men 
were  getting  along  on  it  all  right  when  I  came 
down." 

"I  appreciate  your  kindness,"  she  said. 

"Don't  mention  it.  Fairfax  is  a  good  friend 
of  mine."  Again  there  was  silence,  broken  by 
Burnham's  comment.  "You  '11  meet  Goss,  I 
suppose.     He  is  a  king  among  men." 

She  glanced  at  the  man  beside  her, — lean, 
browned  by  sun  and  wind,  with  dark,  laughing 
eyes,  a  man  who  evidently  loved  the  wood  and 
the  open  air.  He  used  good  English,  she  no- 
ticed. Fairfax  had  said  he  was  a  man  to  be 
trusted,  and  he  certainly  had  an  open,  frank 
face.     Just  then  he  was  whistling. 

"See  that  tree!"  he  said,  suddenly  interrupting 
himself. 

"I  can't  very  well  help  it."  Jane  halted  her 
pony  looking  up  at  the  giant  which  arose  di- 

[69] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

rectly  from  the  middle  of  the  trail.  Ten  feet 
in  diameter,  some  thirty  in  circumference,  tow- 
ering two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  straight  into  the 
air,  with  not  a  branch  nearer  the  ground  than  a 
hundred  feet. 

"That's  a  king  among  trees  certainly,"  she 
said.  The  longer  she  looked  at  the  tree  the 
mightier  it  appeared  as  its  full  circumference 
and  height  bore  in  upon  her. 

"They  did  n't  cut  that  down.  The  trail  goes 
around  it.  This  is  a  ten  mile  point.  Do  you 
want  to  get  off  and  rest?"  Burnham  was  not 
in  the  least  sure  that  this  tenderfoot  would  last 
the  full  twenty  miles.  "And  if  she  does  n't 
what  in  thunder  will  I  do?"  he  muttered. 

Jane  looked  around  her.  The  forest  on  either 
side  was  dense.  The  sunlight  hardly  penetrated 
the  green  crests  of  the  tall  firs.  Tropical  un- 
derbrush could  hardly  seem  more  of  a  jungle. 
On  a  rising  slope  of  the  forest'  lay  great  trunks 
flat  upon  the  ground  or  half  balanced  over 
other  huge  trunks,  blown  over  by  some  storm, 
or  fallen  by  decay.  One  tall  fir  had  in  its  fall 
become  wedged  between  two  others,  equally 
large,  but  too  close  together  to  allow  it  to  fall 

[70] 


On  the  Trail 


to  earth.  There  the  great  giant  leaned,  resting 
its  full  weight  upon  its  sturdy  supporters. 

"I  Til  rest  a  few  moments,"  she  said.  Horse- 
back riding  was  a  new  experience.  Burnham 
took  her  hand  and  attempted  to  assist  her.  Jane 
forestalled  his  effort  by  an  attempted  light 
spring  from  the  horse's  back, — and  landed  on 
her  knees  at  his  feet. 

"Are  you  hurt?"     He  helped  her  up. 

"No-o,  but  I  didn't  know  I  was  so  stiff." 
She  wobbled  badly  as  she  made  her  way  to  a  flat 
stone  by  the  trail.  Burnham  politely  turned  his 
back  to  her  and  led  the  horses  to  a  near-by 
sapling.  He  could  keep  his  face  straight  under 
any  provocation,  but  he  could  not  keep  the 
laughter  out  of  his  eyes. 

In  a  few  moments  he  rejoined  her. 

"I  thought  this  was  all  a  forest  reserve,"  re- 
marked Jane  breaking  the  silence.  "How  can 
you  log  in  a  reserve  or  take  up  a  homestead, 
either?" 

"These  two  homesteads  were  taken  up  before  it 
was  thrown  into  a  reserve,  and  you  bought  Mul- 
laney's  relinquishment.  You  could  n't  take  up 
a  new  homestead  in  here  now — and  that  fact  is 

[71] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

going  to  make  it  more  lonely  for  you,  I  am 
afraid.  You  will  not  have  any  other  neighbors, 
you  see,  than  Mrs.  Patton.  But  as  to  the  log- 
ging— that  is  chiefly  carried  on  outside  of  the 
reserve." 

"It's  all  the  same  forest — and  the  trees  are 
just  as  large." 

"Yes,  but  a  reserve  usually  follows  township 
lines  and  frequently  does  not  include  a  good- 
sized  tract  of  valuable  timber.  I  don't  know 
why  the  government  does  it  in  that  way,  but  it 
does." 

As  they  started  on  again,  the  open  trail,  such 
as  it  was,  ended.  Beyond  the  great  fir  there 
was  barely  a  bridle  path.  Burnham  took  the 
lead  and  she  followed  closely,  pushing  the 
branches  aside.  Few  trees  had  been  cut  at  all 
on  this  trail — they  were  merely  blazed.  The 
underbrush  had  been  hacked  away  close  to  the 
ground,  but  sometimes  the  luxuriant  growth  of 
the  "jungle"  almost  filled  the  vacant  space. 

Burnham  turned  half-way  in  his  saddle  to 
talk  to  her.  "There  are  look-out  points  along 
the  other  side  of  the  river,"  he  explained, 
"points  which  the  forest  guards  visit  every  day 

[72  J 


On  the  Trail 


during  the  summer  for  any  traces  of  a  fire.  The 
views  from  some  of  them  are  wonderful." 

"It 's  all  wonderful,"  she  breathed. 

"Yes,  it  is."  His  own  face  lighted  up. 
"And  Goss  is  proud  of  his  district.  There 's 
never  been  a  bad  fire  in  here." 

"Fire  I"  The  word  seemed  to  come  a  little 
nearer  home  than  when  forest  fires  were  dis- 
cussed on  a  pleasant  porch  in  Spokane. 

"Yes,  indeed.  That  is  the  hardest  work  of  a 
forest  ranger.  But  can  you  imagine,"  he 
added  after  a  minute,  "how  little  chance  mere 
humans  would  have  against  a  fire  in  this  forest?" 

Jane  shivered,  but  not  altogether  because  the 
air  was  damp  and  moist,  almost  chilly,  under 
these  great  trees  though  out  in  the  sunshine  it 
was  warm  enough. 

The  broad,  coarse  leaves  of  the  thimble  berry 
and  the  shining,  waxen  leaves  of  the  salal 
brushed  her  stirrups.  Even  the  sharp-pointed 
leaves  of  the  Oregon  grape  were  tall  enough  to 
attract  her  attention.  The  berries  were  just  ripe 
and  here  and  there  a  cluster  of  the  purple  grapes 
caught  her  eye.  Some  of  the  leaves  were  al- 
ready  turning   crimson.     The   underbrush   be- 

[73] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

came  more  and  more  impenetrable.  Great 
mossy,  decaying  logs,  of  enormous  size  and 
length  lay  about  on  the  ground,  almost  hidden 
by  the  jungle  of  bushes  and  wild  growth  which 
rioted  over  them.  At  one  point  the  trail  led 
under  an  uprooted  log  and  though  she  had  to 
flatten  herself  out  on  her  horse,  they  passed 
without  dismounting  under  it.  But  again  and 
again  the  trail  had  turned  to  go  around  such 
fallen  giants. 

Burnham's  cheery  whistle,  the  thud  of  the 
horses'  feet  and  the  rustling  of  leaves  and  swish 
of  branches  as  they  passed  were  the  only  sounds 
which  broke  the  silence.  There  might  be  birds 
in  the  great  dim  stretches  of  the  woods  but  she 
did  not  see  them. 

"Are  there  Indians  in  here?"  she  asked  sud- 
denly. 

"Yes,  a  few.  They  are  not  dangerous, 
though.  But  let  me  warn  you,"  he  added  sud- 
denly, "if  you  ever  do  meet  Indians,  never  let 
them  see  that  you  are  afraid  of  them.  An 
Indian  despises  anything  which  is  afraid  and 
the  moment  you  show  fear  you  find  yourself  in 

[74]  ' 


On  the  Trail 


their  power.  And  never  go  outside  your  cabin 
door  without  firearms." 

"What  Indians  are  they?" 

"Some  who  have  refused  to  go  on  reservations. 
They  live  in  the  woods  and  along  the  streams, 
going  and  coming  as  they  please.  You  might 
live  here  ten  years  and  never  see  one.  Or  you 
might  encounter  a  number  in  the  first  week. 
They  shoot  game  out  of  season,  though,  and  that 
bothers  the  rangers.  And  they  set  fires,  too,  if 
it  suits  their  convenience.  Goss  would  sleep 
better  if  there  were  no  Indians  in  his  district." ' 

The  trail  began  to  wind  downward,  through 
the  dim  arches  of  the  trees. 

"Just  what  is  the  work  of  a  ranger?"  asked 
Jane. 

"Everything  to  do  with  the  forests  under  their 
care.  They  see  that  squatters  do  not  cut  the 
timber,  that  fires  are  reported  and  fought,  that 
the  game  laws  are  observed,  that  the  sheep  men 
pay  their  fees  and  do  not  graze  except  where 
they  're  allowed  to,  and  they  try  to  get  rid  of  all 
predatory  animals.  Of  course,  they  do  not  get 
rid  of  them  all,  but  seventy-five  timber  wolves 

[75] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 


were  killed  in  this  district  last  winter  by  his 
guards." 

"And  the  fires!" 

"From  April  until  November  they  are  always 
on  the  lookout  for  fires — unless  the  snows  come 
early.  They  put  out  the  little  ones  and  try  to 
divert  the  big  ones.  Do  you  want  a  drink  of 
water?" 

In  the  downward  turn,  they  had  come  to  the 
banks  of  the  Illahee — come  to  it  suddenly,  out 
of  the  cool  dimness.  Spanned  by  a  narrow, 
unguarded  bridge,  the  blue  river  just  below 
them  ran  smoothly  now,  for  it  was  fall  and  all 
the  streams  were  low,  though  Jane  could  read- 
ily imagine  the  rush  of  the  wide  stream  in  its 
spring  flood.  On  both  sides  rose  the  densely 
forested  hills,  peaks  towering  above  her  into  the 
blue,  and  on  the  topmost  peaks  a  sprinkling  of 
snow  which  had  fallen  in  the  night. 

Burnham  slipped  off  his  horse  and  dipped  up 
a  cup  of  water  from  a  stream  trickling  down 
to  the  river.  It  was  clear  and  cool.  She  drank 
it  mechanically.  The  river,  the  mountains,  the 
forest  held  her  attention.  She  was  in  the  heart 
of  the  forest — and  she  knew  the  meaning  of  the 

[76] 


On  the  Trail 


phrase  now.  No  one  ever  realizes  it  until  he  has 
been  in  the  forests'  depths. 

"The  bridge?"  she  asked,  as  Burnham  sprang 
on  his  pony  again. 

"It  is  the  only  bridge  over  the  Illahee  except 
at  the  mills.  Any  one  wanting  to  cross  that 
river,  unless  he  can  ford  it  far  above,  must  cross 
here.     It  was  built  for  the  fire  service." 

"But  no  horse  could  ever  cross  that?" 

"These  mountain  ponies  can.  Still,  the  men 
usually  get  off  and  lead  them.  There  's  no  neces- 
sity for  taking  unusual  risks." 

The  warmth  of  the  sun  felt  good  after  the 
forest  chill. 

"Now  we  turn  up  the  mountain  again,"  said 
her  guide. 

As  they  turned  upward,  Jane  noticed  again 
signs  similiar  to  those  she  had  seen  posted  in  all 
conspicuous  places  along  the  trail.  She  had 
glanced  at  them  rather  carelessly,  her  thoughts 
dwelling  on  the  beauty  and  novelty  of  the  ride ; 
but  with  the  growing  acquaintance  with  the  for- 
est, enveloped  in  its  depths,  and  startled  by  some 
of  Burnham's  words,  the  signs  assumed  a  new 
and  ominous  meaning.     She  paused  to   read: 

[77] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 


FOREST  FIRES! 

The  great  annual  destruction  of  forests  by  fire  Is  an  injury  to  all  per* 
toartfBd  industries.  The  welfare  of  every  community  is  dependent  upon 
A  cheap  and  plentiful  supply  of  .timber,  and  a  forest  cover  Is  the  most 
effective  means  of  preventing,  floods  and  maintaining  a  regular  flow  of 
streams  used  for  irrigation  and  other  useful  purposes. 

To  prevent  forest  fires  Congress  passed  the  law  approved  May  5,  1P00, 
which- 

Forbids*  ••ttlng  flrs>  to  th€>  wood*,  amd 
Forbid*  loavlng  amy  fir  em  unextinguished. 

This  law,  for  offenses  against  which  officers  of  the  FOREST  SERVICE 
can  arrest  without  warrant,  provides  as  maximum  punishment^ 

y^MBjaJ^aajaajljhfjB^^ 

Aflttol|ltOOO.«lB»rh»«asa!fsrsa>fiir,a^ 

It  also  provides  that  the  money  from  such  fines  shall  he  paid  to  the 
school  fund  of  the  county  In  which  the  offense  is  committed; 

THE  EXERCISE  OP  CARE  WITH  SMALL  FIRES  IS  THE  BEST 
PREVENTIVE  OF  LARQE  ONES.    Therefore  all  persons  are  requested— 

1.  Not  to  build  larger  camp  fires  than  are  necessary. 

2.  Not  to  build  fires  In  leaves,  rotten  wood,  or  other  places  where  they 
«re  likely  to  spread. 

3.  In  windy  weather  and  in  dangerous  places,  to  dig  holes  or  clear  the 
ground  to  confine  camp  fires. 

4.  To  extinguish  all  fires  completely  before  leaving  them,  even  for  a 
short  absence. 

5.  Not  to  build  fires  against  large  or  hollow  logs,  where  It  Is  difficult 
to  extinguish  them. 

6.  Not  to  build  fires  to  clear  land  without  Informing  the  nearest  officer 
Of  the  FOREST  SERVICE,  so  that  he  may  assist  in  controlling  them. 

This  notice  la  posted  for  your  benefit  and  the  good  of  every  resident  of  the  region. 
Ton  are  requested  to  cooperate  In  preventing  Its  removal  or  defacement,  which  acts  art 

P*BW,*Wel>yl*W  JAMES     WILSON, 

t  w  Secretary  ol  AartaMxtmm 

From  this  warning  and  appeal  her  eyes  turned 
to  another  notice  attached  like  its  companion  to 
a  stately  tree  trunk. 

[78] 


On  the   Trail 


REWARD 

FOREST  FIRES 


United  States  Department  op  agriculture. 

Offke  of  the  Secretary. 

September  23, 1910. 

Hereafter,  during  the  fiscal  year  ending  June  30,  1911,  unless  otherwise  ordered,  and) 
thereafter,  provided  Congress  shall  make  the  necessary  appropriation  or  authorise  the 
payment  thereof,  the  Department  of  Agriculture  will  pay  the  following  rewards: 

First.  Not  exceeding  $250,  and  not  less  than  $50.  for  Information  leading  to  the  arrest 
and  conviction  of  any  person,  in  any  United  States  court,  on  the  charge  of  willfully  and 
maliciously  setting  on  fire,  or  causing  to  be  set  on  fire,  any  timber,  underbrush,  or 
upon  the  lands  of  the  United  States  within  a  National  Forest. 

Second.  Not  exceeding  $100,  and  not  less  than  $25,  for  Information  leading  to  the  < 
and  conviction  of  any  person,  In  any  United  States  court,  on  the  charge  of  building  a  Are  on 
lands  of  the  United  States  within  a  National  Forest,  in  or  near  any  forest  timber  or  other 
Inflammable  material,  and  leaving  said  fire  before  the  same  has  been  totally  extinguished. 

Third.  All  officers  and  employees  of  the  Department  of  Agriculture  are  barred  from 
receiving  reward  for  information  leading  to  the  arrest  and  conviction  of  any  person  or 
persons  committing  either  of  the  above  offenses. 

Fourth.  The  Department  of  Agriculture  reserves  the  right  to  refuse  payment  of  any 
claim  for  reward  when,  in  its  opinion,  there  has  been  collusion  or  improper  methods  have 
been  used  to  secure  the  arrest  and  conviction  thereunder,  and  to  allow  only  one  reward 
where  several  persons  have  been  convicted  of  the  same  offense  or  where  one  person  has  been 
convicted  of  several  offenses,  unless  the  circumstances  entitle  the  claimant  to  a  reward  on 
each  such  conviction,  . 

These  rewards  will  be  paid  to  the  person  or  persons  giving  the  Information  leading  to 
such  arrests  and  convictions  upon  presentation  to  the  Department  of  Agriculture  of  satis- 
factory documentary  evidence  thereof,  subject  to  the  necessary  appropriation,  as  aforesaid, 
or  otherwise,  as  may  be  provided  by  law. 

Applications  for  reward,  made  In  pursuance  of  this  notice,  should  be  forwarded  to  the 
Porester,  Washington,  D.  C;  but  a  claim  will  not  be  entertained  unless  presented  within 
three  months  from  the  date  of  conviction  of  an  offender. 

In  order  that  all  claimants  for  reward  may  have  an  opportunity  to  present  their  claims 
within  the  prescribed  limit,  the  Department  will  not  take  action  for  three  months  from  date 
of  conviction  of  an  offender. 

(signed)      JAMES  WILSON, 

•"■P  Secretary  of  Agriculture. 

"I  want  to  show  you  a  cabin  in  here,"  Burn- 
ham  said.     He  left  the  trail  and  started  in — 

[?9l 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

anywhere  it  seemed  to  her.  Jane  loosened  the 
reins  of  her  pony  and  let  him  follow.  But 
Dempsey  merely  took  advantage  of  her  to  nip 
the  green  leaves  of  the  salal  and  the  tender  tips 
of  the  fern  brakes,  as  well  as  to  carry  her  so  close 
to  the  tree  trunks  that  she  was  almost  scraped  off 
— an  old,  old  trick  of  Indian  ponies.  Burn- 
ham  turned  and  caught  the  difficulty. 

"Hold  up  your  reins,"  he  said,  "and  switch 
him." 

Dempsey's  reformation  was  slow,  but  re- 
peated applications  of  the  switch  prevailed. 

Burnham  suddenly  drew  up  his  horse. 

"There  it  is." 

"What  is?" 

"The  cabin  I  spoke  of." 

Jane  looked  for  it.  She  could  see  nothing 
but  the  great  firs  and  cedars  around  her — no 
clearing,  no  cabin,  no  sign  of  human  habitation. 
Burnham  laughed.     "Don't  you  see  it?" 

"Indeed  I  do  not." 

"It's  that  stump  there."  He  pointed  with 
his  whip.  Jane's  eyes  followed  the  whip  but  she 
was  as  puzzled  as  ever.  It  was  not  until  Burn- 
ham led  the  way  close  to  the  other  side  of  the 

[80] 


On  the  Trail 


stump  that  she  saw  that  a  sloping  roof  of  bark 
had  been  fastened  to  the  top  of  an  immense 
empty  stump. 

"Do  you  mean  that  some  one  really  lives 
there?  I  think  you  are  making  game  of  me," 
she  added,  half  offended. 

"Indeed  I  am  not.  A  squatter  really  used  to 
live  in  that  stump.  That  is  his  house — or  was. 
I  don't  know  where  he  is  now." 

Jane  still  doubted. 

"I  'm  telling  you  the  gospel  truth,"  insisted 
Burnham.  "It  is  not  an  impossible  thing  out 
here.  Did  you  never  hear  of  the  family  over 
near  the  Sound  who  came  out  with  six  children 
and  lived  in  two  great  stumps  until  the  man 
could  build  a  cabin?  They  roofed  it  with  split 
cedar,  cut  small  holes  for  windows,  cleaned  out 
the  charred  inside,  and  actually  lived  there  for 
several  months.  I  Ve  heard  that  his  wife  said 
she  liked  it  because  the  hollows  in  the  burned- 
out  roots  made  such  good  "cubby  holes"  in 
which  to  store  things  away.  That 's  historical," 
he  added.  "And  after  they  built  their  cabin, 
they  used  one  of  the  stumps  for  a  barn." 

"I  think  I  should  prefer  a  cabin — with  a 
[81] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

comfy  rocking  chair,"  Jane  answered,  with  a 
sudden  sense  of  weariness. 

Burnham  made  no  answer  and  turned  back  to 
the  trail. 

"How  far  are  we  from  the  claim?" 

"About  three  miles.    We  Ve  almost  there." 

It  was  nearer  five. 

He  started  of!  to  tell  her  in  his  own  cheery 
fashion  tales  of  forest  life.  He  talked  brightly, 
one  foot  free  from  the  stirrup,  half  turning  so 
that  she  could  hear  him  without  effort.  He 
told  her  of  the  life  he  knew — of  men  who 
worked  in  the  sawmills,  of  encounters  with 
cougars  and  brown  bears,  of  hunting  trips 
through  the  higher  mountains  outside  of  the  re- 
serve, and  of  camp  fires  under  the  open  stars. 

"This  is  the  result  of  an  avalanche." 

They  had  come  to  the  edge  of  the  trees  again 
and  there  lay  before  them  a  tangled  mass  which 
nothing  but  an  avalanche  could  have  occasioned. 
For  a  distance  extending  nearly  an  eighth  of  a 
mile,  according  to  her  gauge  of  distances,  there 
was  one  fearful  tangle  of  broken  trees  and 
branches,  interlocked  and  interlaced,  with  great 
masses  of  earth  and  rocks  pinning  them  down  at 

[82] 


V 
C3 

a 


On  the   Trail 


intervals.  Large  trees  had  been  snapped  off  as 
though  they  were  pipe  stems  and  hurled  down 
the  mountain  side  like  jackstraws.  Dry  twigs 
and  smaller  branches  lay  scattered  over  the 
trunks  and  in  the  interstices.  Over  all  was  a 
fresh  growth  of  green  bushes,  gleaming  and 
waving  in  the  warmth  of  the  September  sun. 
The  mountain  side  directly  above  was  denuded 
of  trees — a  mass  of  bare  rock. 

Both  riders  slackened  their  bridles  and  the 
ponies  stood  with  drooping  heads  so  character- 
istic of  them,  while  the  new  homesteader  and 
her  guide  looked  out  over  the  wreckage.  Then 
up  the  mountain  side,  around  the  top  of  the 
mass,  they  started,  to  come  down  again  on  the 
other  side. 

Jane's  mind  went  back  to  forest  fires. 

"What  a  bonfire  that  would  make!''  she  re- 
marked, pausing  a  moment  as  they  turned, 
looking  down  on  the  mass  of  dry,  twisted,  and 
torn  trees. 

"Heaven  help  us  if  it  ever  does  get  afire," 
said  Burnham  gravely.  "But  really,  there  is 
little  danger.  That  has  been  here  for  years, 
just  as  it  is  now.     With  the  forestry  service  we 

[83] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

have  now,  there  's  little  danger.     But  what  a 
bonfire  it  would  make!" 

On  and  on  plodded  the  horses,  just  as  they 
had  done  through  all  the  morning.  Jane  was 
growing  tired.  The  trees  scratched  her  face, 
and  she  felt  a  sudden  irritation  at  the  constant 
need  of  brushing  the  branches  aside  from  the 
trail.     Suddenly  Burnham  stopped. 

"At  this  point,"  he  said,  "the  trail  to  your 
claim  begins.  Stop  a  bit  and  see  if  you  can  fix 
it  in  your  mind.  You  would  n't  want  to  lose 
your  way  getting  to  your  own  cabin." 

Jane  looked  about  her.  She  could  see  no 
difference  between  this  and  a  thousand  other 
points  on  the  long  trail  from  Illahee.  The 
trees  were  of  the  same  general  appearance, 
about  the  same  size, — nothing  was  different. 

"I  can't  see  a  distinguishing  sign.  I  surely 
would  get  lost,"  she  answered  with  a  sudden 
sense  of  utter  helplessness. 

"See  that  blaze  there."  She  had  not.  "I  '11 
make  it  clearer."  He  sprang  off  his  horse  and 
with  an  ax  made  two  distinct  blazes  on  the  north 
side  and  two  on  the  west.  "This  is  a  corner,  you 
see?" 

[84] 


On  the  Trail 


The  horses  began  to  wind  among  the  trees. 
Jane's  sense  of  helplessness  increased  with  every 
moment.  It  would  take  all  her  resourcefulness, 
she  thought,  and  far  greater  powers  of  observa- 
tion than  she  had  yet  developed  to  go  out  of 
sight  of  her  cabin  and  not  get  lost. 

"I  '11  blaze  a  distinct  trail  from  that  corner  to 
your  cabin,"  Burnham  said,  answering  her  un- 
spoken thought.  "But  why  did  n't  you  stay  in 
civilization  where  you  belonged?"  he  added  to 
himself.  "You  're  not  the  type  of  woman  to 
take  up  a  claim  in  the  forest." 

He  wondered,  as  he  had  wondered  all  day, 
why  she  was  doing  it.  Fairfax  had  said  she 
was  a  friend  of  his  wife's  and  that  was  suffi- 
cient. And  she  certainly  was  an  attractive  girl. 
"Ought  to  be  married,  with  some  good  man  to 
take  care  of  her,"  was  his  persistent  masculine 
conclusion.  He  remembered  he  had  come 
around  to  that  every  time.  But  why  not? 
Women  certainly  were  better  off  if  happily 
married  and  in  homes  of  their  own.  "And 
there  's  where  she  ought  to  be." 

"Tell  me  something  about  Mrs.  Patton,"  said 
Jane,  conscious  of  the  fact  that  he  had  suddenly 

[85] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

begun  to  study  her  rather  than  to  amuse  her 
with  his  cheery  talk. 

"She  's  a  woman  of  about  sixty,  little,  sharp- 
tongued,  energetic  as  a  steam  engine,  afraid  of 
nothing,  independent,  and  a  good  cook — a 
mighty  good  cook,"  he  added  appreciatively. 
Cooking  must  count,  even  in  the  forest. 

"Why  did  she  come  out  here?" 

"Her  son  went  to  Alaska  seven  years  ago  and 
said  he  would  come  back  when  he  made  his 
pile.  That 's  the  last  that 's  ever  been  heard  of 
him.  The  daughter  married  and  lives  in  Illa- 
hee.  She  lived  with  them,  but  did  n't  get  along 
well  with  her  son-in-law.  They  scrapped 
world  without  end,  until  one  day  he  slapped 
her  in  the  face,  I  believe.  She  was  red  hot  and 
took  up  a  claim. n 

"And  she  's  my  only  neighbor?" 

"Yes,  except  the  squatter.     Here  we  are." 


[86] 


CHAPTER  V 

burnham's  cabin 

THE  sound  of  men's  voices  and  the  tread  of 
horses'  feet  broke  the  silence  which  had 
prevailed  at  Burnham's  old  cabin. 

"Here  we  are  again."  The  voice  belonged 
to  Goss,  who  alighted  from  Dick  and  let  the 
bridle  fall  to  the  ground. 

"At  last!"  answered  Burnham.  "Now  for 
some  supper  and  a  bed."  He  picked  up  Bob's 
bridle  and  started  to  lead  the  horses  away.  A 
moment  later  Goss's  voice  hailed  him.- 

"Wait  a  minute.     Let  me  have  the  key." 

"It  is  n't  locked."  Burnham  started  off 
again. 

"Yes,  it  is." 

Burnham  fumbled  in  his  pockets.  There 
was  no  key  there.  He  dropped  the  bridles  and 
turned  back  to  the  cabin. 

"The  key  is  inside.  I  remember  leaving  it 
there   Tuesday   morning.     The   door  was   left 

[87] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

unlocked  for  Ole.  I  brought  some  tools  out 
for  him."  As  he  spoke  he  applied  his  hand  to 
the  door.  It  seemed  to  be  fastened.  Bracing 
his  shoulder  against  it,  the  door  gave  an  inch 
or  two,  showing  but  a  line  of  dense  black. 
"Push  with  me,  Goss;  this  is  strange."  The 
two  men  braced  themselves  against  the  door. 
There  was  a  crash  inside  and  the  door  yielded 
suddenly  several  inches. 

Goss  squeezed  through  the  narrow  opening 
into  the  dark  room.  There  was  another  crash, 
a  fall,  and  Goss's  voice. 

"What  in  the  deuce!" 

The  match  he  struck  flickered  and  went  out. 

Burnham  followed  him  into  the  darkness. 

Another  match  was  struck.  Another  crash. 
In  the  glimmering  light  the  cabin  seemed  to 
be  filled  with  bales,  boxes,  and  barrels.  Burn- 
ham  reached  for  a  candlestick  on  the  shelf  near 
the  door,  and  the  next  moment  the  steady  gleam 
of  the  candle  penetrated  the  room.  A  scene  of 
wreckage  met  the  eyes  of  both  men. 

"Looks  like  a  freight  yard!"  said  Goss  cheer- 
fully. He  leaned  on  a  case  of  tinned  tomatoes 
and  rubbed  his  shin. 

[88] 


Burnham's  Cabin 


"By  Jove!"  Burnham  looked  helplessly 
around  him.  Then  his  eye  caught  sight  of  the 
name  on  a  bundle  wrapped  in  burlap.  "I  told 
that  idiot — "     But  words  were  of  no  avail. 

In  the  center  of  the  cabin  floor — indeed  fill- 
ing the  whole  cabin — lay  a  heap  of  freight.  A 
fireless  cooker  poised  on  top  of  several  totter- 
ing cases  threatened  immediate  descent.  One 
end  of  a  sanitary  couch  rested  on  Burnham's 
cook  stove.  A  box  marked  "Glass.  Handle 
with  care"  had  in  falling  knocked  out  one  of  the 
stove  legs  and  even  the  pipe  was  awry.  Goss 
struck  against  the  rocker  of  a  large  chair  and 
a  box  of  books  landed  on  his  foot.  A  box  of 
breakfast  food,  meditatively  balancing  on  top  of 
the  heap,  decided  in  favor  of  lower  elevation. 

"It  looks" — Burnham  dodged  the  breakfast 
food  in  its  descent — "as  if  some  one  had  made  a 
mistake."  He  spoke  in  a  calm,  diplomatic  way. 
The  fireless  cooker  lost  its  balance  and  dashed 
toward  him.  Burnham  tactfully  stepped  aside, 
and  then,  with  equal  tact  and  self-possession, 
sat  down  on  it.  A  little  thing  might  make  him 
lose  his  temper,  but  a  calamity  like  this  made 
him  resigned. 

[89] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

The  cabin  was  a  discouraging  sight  to  two 
weary  men.  Goss  had  been  out  on  a  two  weeks' 
trip  through  his  district,  straightening  out 
quarrels  between  the  sheep  men  in  the  high 
meadow  lands  of  the  mountains,  looking  after 
and  supervising  the  making  of  trails,  fighting 
small  fires  which  sprang  up  here  and  there  as 
though  by  magic,  and  all  in  a  dense  forest  with 
bridgeless  streams  and  dangerous  cliffs.  Burn- 
ham  had  just  come  in  after  a  three  days'  cruise 
through  almost  impenetrable  underbrush. 

"This  is  a  jolly  row."  His  tone  was  disgust 
itself. 

Goss  looked  for  an  explanation  but  got  none. 

Neither  man  was  in  any  mood  to  straighten 
out  a  freight  yard  that  night,  but  something  had 
to  be  done  if  they  wanted  supper  and  bed  in  the 
cabin.  It  was  only  an  ordinary  homesteader's 
cabin,  a  twelve-by-fourteen-foot  affair,  with  two 
bunks  at  one  end. 

Burnham  started  for  the  sanitary  couch,  the 
clumsiest  thing  except  the  rocker,  and  set  it  off 
to  one  side.  The  box  of  china  and  glassware 
came  out  from  under  the  stove  and  the  leg  was 

[90] 


Burnham's  Cabin 


replaced  while  Goss  tried  to  straighten  the  pipe. 
A  match  started  the  fire  in  the  small  stove,  an- 
other started  a  blaze  in  the  fireplace,  and  the 
prospect  speedily  became  more  cheerful.  It 
did  not  take  very  long,  after  they  had  once 
started,  to  carry  the  lighter  boxes  and  cases  out- 
side the  cabin  and  dump  them  down  beside  the 
doorway.     Yet  both  were  irritated. 

"I  '11  get  supper,"  volunteered  Burnham, 
pulling  out  the  hinged  board  which  served  as  a 
kitchen  table,  and  beginning  to  get  out  supplies 
of  bacon  and  eggs.  "Just  throw  things  any- 
way." Both  were  ignoring  the  whinnying  of 
the  horses  from  outside.  A  ranger's  horse  gets 
better  care  than  he  gives  himself,  but  a  few 
minutes'  waiting  was  not  injuring  them  to-night. 
Burnham  lifted  an  egg  to  crack  it.  He  was  not 
a  nervous  man,  but  when  Goss  set  a  box  in  the 
bottom  of  the  big  chair  and  then  tripped  again 
over  the  long  rockers  which  flew  up  unexpect- 
edly, while  a  rolled-up  rug  fell  over  and  hit 
him  in  the  face,  Burnham  dropped  the  egg  on 
the  floor.  And  then  a  sudden  sense  of  the  lu- 
dicrous  struck   the   two,    tired    as    they   were. 

[91] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Goss  sat  down  on  the  rug  and  laughed  until  the 
tears  came.  Burnham  dropped  the  bacon  and 
knocked  off  another  egg. 

"What  is  it?  Who  is  it?  Matrimony, 
Jack?" 

"Not  by  a  darn  sight.  It 's  that  pig-headed 
Swede." 

"Complimenting  the  Swede  does  n't  en- 
lighten me/' 

But  there  was  no  answer. 

Goss  kicked  aside  boxes  in  a  way  which 
would  have  shattered  any  woman's  ideal  of  men 
as  protectors — of  household  goods,  at  least — and 
stepped  out  into  the  gloom  to  care  for  the 
horses. 

Burnham,  on  the  swinging  table  which  hung 
against  the  wall,  set  out  a  miscellaneous  ar- 
ray of  ironstone  china  and  tinware.  The  fire 
was  crackling  cheerfully  and  the  fragrance  of 
bacon,  eggs,  and  coffee  filled  the  room  when 
Goss  returned.  A  can  of  evaporated  milk  was 
produced  from  somewhere,  with  a  loaf  of  bread, 
and  the  half  famished  men  set  down  to  their 
supper. 

The  meal  over,  Burnham  piled  up  the  dishes 
[92] 


Burnham's  Cabin 


roughly  and  set  them  on  the  broad  board.  The 
table,  to  use  a  quaint  old  phrase  of  his  grand- 
mother's, had  been  "skinned." 

"Whose  junk  is  this,  anyway?"  asked  Goss  as 
they  dropped  down  before  the  fireplace  each 
with  his  head  in  a  cloud  of  blue  smoke. 

"Woman  coming  up  to  take  a  homestead." 

"But  this  is  all  reserve." 

"She 's  taken  the  relinquishment  on  Mul- 
laney's  claim." 

"Next  to  the  Widdy's?" 

"Yes.  Hansen  was  coming  out  to  build  her 
cabin  and  I  told  the  freight  agent  to  send  the 
goods  to  where  Ole  was  going  to  build  the 
cabin.  And  here  's  where  he  lands  'em."  He 
looked  disgustedly  at  the  cluttered-up  cabin. 
"What's  more,  I  told  Ole  to  take  the  freight 
across  the  stream  from  the  Widdy's  where  he 
was  to  build  the  house." 

"So  he  brought  them  out  here  because  he  's 
going  to  build  you  a  barn.  But,"  he  added  a 
moment  later,  "what  have  you  got  to  do  about 
it?" 

"I  had  word  from  Fairfax  about  it." 

"When  did  she  come?" 
[93] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"About  three  days  ago." 

Goss  turned  and  looked  at  the  boxes,  "  'Jane 
G.  Myers,'  "  he  read  a  moment  later.  "Does 
that  stand  for  Jane  Gemima?  Humph !  Well, 
Jane,  your  goods  are  not  in  the  right  place. 
But  I  'd  rather  have  your  goods  than  you." 

"Why?"  asked  Burnham  with  a  sudden 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"I  've  no  friendship  for  Janes"  was  the  un- 
expected answer.  "I  can  see  her — I  can  see 
her!     Tall?" 

"Rather." 

"Angular,  lanky,  awkward,  raw-boned, 
sharp-voiced,  straight  hair  drawn  straight  back 
— so  tight  she  can't  get  her  eyes  shut — and 
twisted  into  a  little  hard  knot  at  the  back  of 
her  head."  Burnham  looked  attentively  at  the 
spilled  eggs  on  the  floor — in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion from  Goss.  "Great  familiarity  with  a 
cook  stove,"  Goss  went  on,  "or  with  a  wash- 
board, but  little  with  social  amenities.  I  never 
knew  a  Jane  yet  that  did  n't  answer  that  de- 
scription.    I  '11  bet  I  'm  right  on  this  one." 

The  Old  Nick  himself  was  dancing  in  Burn- 
ham's  black  eyes. 

[94] 


Burnham's  Cabin 


"I  think  perhaps  you  're  right  about  the  cook 
stove,"  he  answered  a  little  ambiguously. 

"I  know  I  am.     Age,  forty!" 

"Ahem!  Still,  it  might  mean  an  occasional 
square  meal  for  us  when  the  Widdy  's  in  town." 
The  Widdy  was  their  one  defense  against  the 
rigors  of  camp  cooking,  and  the  tasteless 
cuisine  of  the  ranger's  headquarters  or  the  hotel 
at  Illahee. 

Burnham  began  to  wipe  up  the  spilled  eggs. 
Goss  rose  and  knocked  his  pipe  against  the 
chimney.  "We  wish  you  no  ill  luck,  Jane,"  he 
remarked  as  he  refilled  and  relighted  it,  "but 
you  may  wish  that  you  had  stuck  to  the  wash- 
board, for  homesteading  in  the  forest  is  no 
joke." 

Goss  turned  at  a  slight  sound  which  might 
have  been  a  chuckle,  but  Burnham,  with  a  face 
as  long  as  the  moral  law,  was  wiping  up  the 
eggs  on  the  floor.  What  was  the  use  of  saying 
she  had  wavy  hair  and  violet  eyes?  Sometimes 
it  was  better  not  to  tell  everything  you  knew. 
Anyway,  that  was  what  he  had  learned  as  a 
freshman. 

"What  possesses  any  woman  to  take  up  a 
[95] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

homestead?"  asked  Goss,  his  face  wreathed  in 
blue  smoke  from  his  short  pipe  as  he  turned 
back  toward  the  supper  table;  "what  possesses 
any  woman  to  take  up  a  claim,  especially  in  a 
dense  forest  like  this?" 

"Value  of  the  timber,  I  suppose." 

"But  the  hardships." 

"I  don't  suppose  it  is  any  harder,  come  right 
down  to  it,  than  a  washboard  or  a  cook  stove. 
And  probably  there  's  more  money  in  it." 

Burnham  relighted  his  pipe  and  dropped 
down  into  his  chair.  Goss  wandered  over  to 
the  side  of  the  cabin. 

"Sanitary  couch,"  he  announced,  "fireless 
cooker,  crex  rug,  and  a.  good  big  rocker.  Jane  's 
up  to  date  anyway."  He  pulled  the  rocker 
over  toward  the  fireplace,  shoving  the  rough 
camp  furniture  out  of  the  way,  and  dropped 
down  into  it. 

"It's  comfortable — thoroughly  so.  I  might 
visit  Jane  once  in  a  while — when  the  Widdy  is 
in  town  and  we  need  a  square  meal,  I  mean. 
Only  that  type  of  woman  actually  hurts  my 
eyes." 

"You  might  turn  your  back  on  her  and 
[96] 


Burnham 's  Cabin 


smoke."  Burnham  kept  his  face  turned  well 
away  from  his  friend. 

"Do  you  suppose  that  a  Jane  could  be  disap- 
pointed in  love  and  take  to  the  forest  as  a 
refuge?" 

"You  're  disposed  to  be  witty — as  well  as 
speculative.  Remember  what  your  family 
think  of  your  being  out  in  the  forest." 

"They  think  I  'm  daft — but  I  know  better. 
Did  you  locate  the  timber  you  wanted?" 

"Not  entirely.  Surveying  seems  to  be 
crooked  somewhere.     Have  a  hard  trip?" 

"Usual  thing.  Small  fires  which  seem  to 
start  from  spontaneous  combustion.  Those  two 
sheep  herders,  though,"  he  added  more  energet- 
ically, "have  got  to  stop  their  fighting  or  I  '11 
shoot  one  of  them.     I  surely  will." 

"Think  they  are  responsible  for  any  of  the 
fires?" 

"Can't  prove  it.  I  have  my  suspicions, 
though." 

"Charlie  Howe  was  at  Illahee  ten  days  ago," 
remarked  Burnham  after  a  long  silence. 
"Asked  about  you.  I  gave  him  a  long  spiel  for 
his  paper." 

[97] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"What 's  he  on  now?" 

11  'Frisco  Chronicle.  Came  up  to  write  up 
the  lumber  industry  of  Washington.  Said  the 
fellows  around  'Frisco  had  a  big  reunion  last 
month." 

"None  of  the  foresters  there,  of  course, — at 
this  time  of  year." 

"Dick  Crite  was.  He  went  up  to  Alaska 
cruising,  started  prospecting,  and  came  down 
with  quite  a  pile." 

So  the  talk  drifted  on  about  this  man  and  that 
— men  who  were  cruising  the  forests  all  along 
the  Pacific  coast,  men  with  whom  they  had 
tramped  and  camped  in  the  forestry  school, 
some  of  whom  had  failed  and  some  of  whom 
were  on  the  high  road  to  success. 

The  cabin  was  blue  with  smoke  when  Goss 
pulled  himself  together  with  a  sigh.  A  bed 
would  feel  good  after  sleeping  on  the  ground. 
Burnham  rose  and  cast  a  comprehensive  eye 
over  the  unwashed  dishes. 

"There 's  enough  clean  ones  for  breakfast," 
he  announced,  man-fashion. 


[98] 


CHAPTER  VI 
getting  settled 

Friday. 
Dear  Hope: 

At  last  I  am  here,  after  those  four  dreadful 
days  in  that  dreadful  little  sawmill  town.  Mr. 
Burnham  came  with  me  and  everything  went 
smoothly,  but  I  was  excited  after  we  turned  up 
the  Thunder  Creek  trail  which  leads,  part  of 
the  way,  almost  alongside  of  a  mountain  torrent, 
from  the  main  trail  to  my  cabin.  There  is  n't 
much  trail  about  it,  though ;  nothing  but  blazes 
on  the  trees  and  bushes  that  scratch  your  face. 
At  last  we  came  in  sight  of  the  cabins,  and  there 
was  mine,  half  finished.  It's  lovely.  It  is 
close  beside  the  most  beautiful  mountain  stream 
I  ever  saw.  On  the  other  side  is  Mrs.  Patron's 
cabin.  My  cabin  is  set  right  in  among  the  trees, 
though  they  are  not  so  dense  as  farther  back. 
The  only  clearing  is  that  made  by  cutting  down 
the  trees  so  they  could  use  the  logs  for  building. 

[99] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

And  it's  my  homestead!  I  feel  so  joyful. 
Next  to  the  cabin  is  a  magnificent  fir  that  towers 
far  up  into  the  sky,  beautiful  and  strong  and 
straight.  It  is  a  perfect  tree.  They  said  they 
did  not  cut  it  for  the  cabin  because  the  bole  was 
too  large.  Imagine  cutting  that  tree  down! 
The  cabin  is  so  artistic,  nestling  down  under  this 
one  big  tree. 

We  had  to  go  across  a  narrow  tree  bridge  to 
see  my  new  neighbor,  and  I  don't  like  her — at 
first  sight,  anyway.  She  has  the  snappiest  eyes 
I  ever  saw  and  a  snappy  way  of  jerking  out 
words  between  her  teeth  that  is  almost  fear- 
some. She  stood  in  her  cabin  door  and  looked 
me  over,  and  said,  "Huh!"  When  Mr.  Burn- 
ham  introduced  us,  she  looked  at  me  again,  and 
then  at  him — those  snappy,  gimlet  eyes, — be- 
fore she  even  acknowledged  the  introduction. 
She  is  to  take  me  in  until  my  cabin  is  finished 
and  it 's  a  good  deal  better  than  being  in  Illahee. 
I  can  spend  my  time  watching  the  men  finish 
my  cabin. 

We  three  had  dinner  together  and  then  Mr. 
Burnham  went  on  up  the  valley.  He  told  me 
he  had  a  log  cabin  which  he  built  before  this 

[  ioo] 


Getting  Settled 


was  in  the  reserve  and  he  still  uses  it,  as  well  as 
this  Mr.  Goss,  as  a  sort  of  wayside  station — no, 
I  mean,  a  half-way  house.  It  is  close  to  the 
point  where  three  trails  branch  and  it  is  so  con- 
venient for  the  rangers  as  well  as  for  him  that 
they  keep  up  the  "establishment."  He  laughed 
when  he  called  it  that.  I  almost  wish  I  were 
going  with  him.  I  suppose  it  is  because  I  know 
he  is  a  friend  of  Bert  Fairfax's  that  I  feel  now 
as  if  he  were  the  one  friend  I  had  in  the 
world. 

I  spent  the  afternoon  sitting  on  a  log  out- 
side Mrs.  Patton's  door,  watching  the  men  work 
and  the  stream  rush  past.  I  don't  wonder  they 
call  it  Thunder  Creek.  It  does  make  such  a 
noise,  and  it  must  be  deep,  too.  When  the  men 
stopped  work  for  the  evening  I  went  over  and 
explored  my  new  house.  The  fresh-hewn  wood 
is  so  fragrant.  The  cabin  is  tiny,  just  the  usual 
twelve  by  fourteen  feet.  They  are  putting  in 
only  one  window  and  the  door.  I  had  said  es- 
pecially that  I  wanted  two  windows,  and  I  or- 
dered them  larger  than  they  are.  I  also  wanted 
broad  eaves  and  there  are  no  eaves  at  all.  I 
thought  that  perhaps  even   in   a  log  cabin   I 

[101] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

might  build  something  that  would  express  in- 
dividuality, but  there  's  absolutely  no  difference 
between  my  cabin  and  that  of  the  roughest  class 
of  homesteaders.  They  have  built  the  tradi- 
tional cabin  and  it 's  rather  disappointing. 

Mr.  Burnham  told  me  before  he  went  away 
that  I  ought  to  have  the  fir — he  says  it's  a 
Douglas  fir — cut.  I  was  simply  shocked.  It 
would  destroy  every  bit  of  the  artistic  setting  of 
the  cabin.  I  thought  he  had  better  taste,  but  I 
just  told  him  I  wanted  it  for  a  flag  pole.  He 
might  not  have  understood  the  artistic  side  of 
it. 

That  first  night  Mrs.  Patton  offered  me  a  bed 
on  the  floor  in  her  cabin,  or  blankets  for  sleep- 
ing out  of  doors.  What  do  you  suppose  she  was 
thinking  of?  To  sleep  out  of  doors,  in  an  un- 
known forest,  with  bears  around,  perhaps!  But 
I  did  n't  want  to  sleep  in  her  cabin  if  I  could 
help  it.  Finally  I  told  her  I  would  take  the 
blankets  and  go  over  and  sleep  on  the  floor  of 
my  own  cabin, — that  I  thought  I  could  cover 
the  windows  and  block  the  door  in  case  a  bear 
did  come  around,  and  she  actually  let  me  do  it. 

[  102  ] 


Getting  Settled 


Me!  My  first  night  in  the  forest!  I  was 
scared  stiff,  but  I  would  n't  show  it.  I  did  n't 
expect  to  sleep  at  all,  but  I  hardly  remember 
putting  my  head  down.  I  wonder  where  in  the 
world  my  furniture  is,  anyway.  Mr.  Burnham 
said  it  had  been  sent  out  several  days  before  but 
it  is  n't  here.  He  must  have  been  mistaken.  If 
I  had  my  own  furniture  I  could  have  set  the 
couch  in  the  cabin,  because  sleeping  on  the  floor 
is  n't  all  it 's  cracked  up  to  be. 

I  do  not  see  how  I  am  going  to  make  many 
improvements  on  my  homestead  around  my 
cabin.  I  guess  I  will  have  to  confine  them  to 
the  open  land  on  the  back  of  the  claim.  The 
forest  is  very  dense.  The  trees  are  so  large  and 
so  wonderfully  high,  clear  of  branches  half  way 
to  heaven,  and  the  ground  the  most  impossible 
tangle  of  fallen  trees,  vines,  fern  brake,  under- 
brush— utterly  impassable.  Is  that  a  pun?  I 
did  n't  see  it  until  after  it  was  written.  The 
animal  life,  they  tell  me,  consists  of  rabbits, 
squirrels,  deer,  bears,  cougars,  wolves,  and  wood 
rats,  ranking  in  importance  as  named.  I  be- 
lieve I  'm  most  afraid  of  a  bear. 

[  103  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 


Monday  morning. 
The  carpenter  asked  me  this  morning  what 
that  big  roll  of  wire  screening  was  for,  so  I 
showed  him  how  I  wanted  a  little  extension  on 
the  end  of  the  cabin,  with  a  second,  smaller  door 
into  it.  He  objected  and  refused  until  you 
would  have  thought  it  was  his  house  and  not 
mine.  At  last  I  appealed  to  Mrs.  Patton.  She 
came  over  the  bridge — I  found  out  afterwards 
how  she  dreaded  that  bridge — and  listened  to 
both  of  us,  and  said  "Huh"  again.  But  the 
Swede  is  so  stupid!  I  explained  what  I  wanted, 
— a  place  for  my  kindling  wood  in  winter — and 
they  both  looked  as  if  I  had  gone  crazy.  I  in- 
sisted and  at  last  I  got  the  extension  built — just 
two  uprights  at  the  proper  distance  from  the 
cabin,  with  two  boards  around  the  bottom,  a 
roof  of  shakes,  and  the  rest  of  the  wire  screen- 
ing. Then  he  had  to  cut  a  small  door  into  the 
"pen"  as  he  called  it,  but  he  certainly  made  it 
small  and  low  enough.  I  can't  see  why  they 
objected.  They  are  putting  the  shakes  on  the 
roof  to-day.  To-morrow  I  can  begin  to 
move  in. 

[  104] 


Getting  Settled 


Yesterday  Mr.  Burnham  came  up.  I  was  so 
glad  to  see  him.  Sunday  is  rather  lonesome  in 
a  strange  place,  and  he  took  away  the  homesick- 
ness that  was  beginning  to  swallow  me  up.  He 
is  full  of  fun  and  life.  He  told  me  that  I  would 
not  realize  for  a  year  what  a  tenderfoot  I  was. 
I  fancy  there  are  interesting  experiences  ahead, 
but  I  really  don't  care  what  they  are.  I  'm  just 
in  the  mood  for  homesteading  to-day  and  the 
more  exciting  the  adventures,  the  better.  I 
hope  lots  of  things  will  happen. 

Mr.  Burnham  spoke  about  cutting  that 
Douglas  fir  again.  I  told  him  decidedly  I 
would  not  hear  of  it.  He  argued  a  little  while 
and  then  we  dropped  the  subject. 

Tuesday. 

The  mail  here  is  an  uncertain  thing,  so  my 
letter  is  taking  the  form  of  a  diary.  Please 
don't  criticise  the  English  or  the  continuity  of  it. 
I  am  just  jumbling  things  up  as  they  come. 

My  furniture  came  this  morning  and  I  am 
still  wondering  where  it  has  been  all  this  time. 
I  spoke  to  Mr.  Burnham  about  it  Sunday,  but 
he  did  n't  seem  to  know  much  about  it.     The 

[105] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

minute  it  came,  I  began  to  unpack.  I  got 
the  couch  in,  first  of  all,  and  then  unrolled  my 
blankets,  so  my  bed 's  ready  for  me  to-night 
anyway.  There  will  be  some  delay  about  the 
second  window  because  they  have  to  send  to  111- 
ahee  for  the  second  sash,  but  they  have  to  build 
a  barn  out  here  somewhere,  so  they  will  do  that 
later  as  they  are  on  their  way  in  again.  I  have 
put  some  screening  over  it  temporarily.  They 
tell  me  the  wood  rats  get  in  everywhere.  I  be- 
lieve I  can  use  that  screened  part  as  an  outdoor 
sleeping  place  in  summer,  but  you  should  have 
seen  Mrs.  Patron's  face  when  I  told  her  that. 

The  crossbeams  of  my  cabin  are  studded 
thick  with  hooks  of  all  kinds,  for  with  such  a 
small  room  I  must  hang  supplies  above.  A 
piece  of  bacon  hangs  on  one  hook,  ham  on  an- 
other, salt,  potatoes,  a  jug  of  vinegar,  and  an- 
other of  molasses, — each  on  its  own  hook.  My 
eggs  I  put  in  brine  in  a  big  crock.  On  a  shelf, 
close  up  to  the  roof,  I  put  my  canned  goods  and 
soap,  cornstarch,  baking  powder,  cereals, 
spices,  and  such  things.  You  see,  I  have  to 
stock  up  for  months  and  months  ahead  because 
sometimes  the  trail  to  the  town  is  rather  diffi- 

[106] 


Getting  Settled 


cult  in  winter,  I  believe.  It  would  be  fun  to 
walk  in  on  snowshoes,  I  should  think.  I  believe 
I  '11  try  it  some  time  when  I  need  exercise. 

They  built  in  a  big  fireplace  at  one  end,  and 
that  I  shall  use  for  my  sitting  room.  At  the  other 
end  is  my  kitchen  with  the  little  air-tight  wood 
stove,  flat  topped,  for  cooking.  I  had  to  run 
the  pipe  the  entire  length  of  the  cabin  and  use 
the  big  chimney.  They  could  just  as  well  have 
made  two  chimneys.  There  are  stones  enough 
in  the  creek,  goodness  knows.  I  shall  have  some 
fun  this  fall  making  furniture  out  of  the  pack- 
ing cases.  I  did  n't  bring  much  with  me — rugs, 
rockers,  a  good  couch,  and  so  on,  enough  to  be 
comfortable.  I  have  not  forgotten  I  am  to  stay 
here  for  five  years — unless  I  should  decide  to 
commute. 

I  saw  enough  of  Mrs.  Patton — they  call  her 
"the  Widdy" — in  taking  my  meals  with  her,  to 
pause  with  astonishment.  She  is  a  thoroughly 
good  cook.  No  wonder  these  rangers  plan 
their  trips  so  as  to  stop  here  for  meals.  But  she 
is  the  most  superstitious  person  on  salt  that  I 
ever  met.  It  is  her  universal  remedy  for  evil 
or  accident.     The  first  time  I  started  out  on  an 

[  107  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

exploring  tour — I  did  n't  go  two  hundred  feet 
— she  scattered  salt  on  the  ground  behind  me  so 
I  would  not  lose  my  way.  The  first  time  I 
crossed  the  bridge  to  my  own  cabin,  she  flirted 
ahead — that 's  the  correct  word,  she  is  so  small 
and  wiry, — she  flirted  ahead  of  me  and  scattered 
salt  on  the  bridge,  so  there  would  be  no  accident. 
She  occasionally  puts  salt  on  the  pony's  back  to 
keep  his  mane  and  tail  free  from  burrs — put 
there  by  evil  spirits,  I  suppose.  And  after  my 
cabin  was  finished,  before  I  could  move  any- 
thing in,  she  scattered  salt  on  my  threshold. 
She  still  says  "Huh,"  but  I  like  her  better  than 
I  did  at  first.  She  really  means  to  be  kind,  I 
think.  She  simply  had  no  idea  of  what  it 
would  mean  to  me  to  sleep  out  of  doors  my  first 
night  here.  She  did  n't  dream  how  I  felt  about 
it.  We  will  never  be  very  congenial,  but  I 
think  we  '11  get  along  together  all  right. 

She  has  a  married  daughter  living  in  Illahee. 
There  are  three  grandchildren,  Sam,  who  some- 
times visits  her,  and  two  smaller  ones.  Of  her 
son-in-law,  Pat,  she  said  little,  but  that  was  ex- 
pressive.    Yes,  quite  expressive. 

There  is  some  chance  of  mail  going  down  in 
[108] 


Getting  Settled 


the  next  day  or  two,  so  I  am  going  to  seal  this 
letter.  Anything  else  that  happens  will  have  to 
be  waited  for.  But  I  'm  thoroughly  glad  I 
have  undertaken  this  venture.  I  'm  going  to 
enjoy  every  moment  of  it.  I  have  written  Sue 
and  Bert  Fairfax,  of  course,  but  I  have  told 
them  only  the  sunny  side  of  things.  You  know 
how  they  felt  about  my  coming. 

Your  friend, 
Jane. 
P.  S.  I  always  leave  the  most  interesting 
things  for  the  postcript.  That 's  to  make  sure 
that  you  read  my  letters  all  through.  I  forgot 
to  tell  you  about  the  cloth  label — no,  it  is  n't  ex- 
actly that — perhaps  I  might  say  sign.  Oh,  no  I 
It 's  a  notice,  that 's  what  it  is,  that  is  tacked  up 
on  my  front  logs.  It  is  n't  on  the  door,  and  I 
can  hardly  say  my  front  wall.  Anyway,  this 
interesting  sign  says  that  Jane  G.  Myers  has 
taken  up  as  a  homestead  the  northwest  quarter 
of  section  47, — I  think  it  is — of  township — I  've 
forgotten  the  number.  I  '11  have  to  memorize 
the  thing  in  order  to  know  where  I  live — and 
range  so-and-so.  It 's  a  unique  sign — to  me. 
Perhaps  I  '11  get  used  to  it.     The  Widdy  has 

[  109  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

proved  up  on  her  claim,  but  she  leaves  the  faded 
cloth  notice  there — to  save  herself  trouble,  she 
says.  But  it 's  a  very  interesting  label.  I  know 
now  just  where  I  live! 


[no] 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  BERRY  PATCH 

**T  TELLO,"  said  Jane  cheerfully  a  morn- 

-*-  -i-  ing  or  two  later  as  she  stepped  out  of 
her  cabin  and  found  a  small  boy  surveying  the 
primitive  tree  bridge  which  spanned  the  creek. 
She  stepped  carefully  down  upon  the  stones, 
dipped  her  bucket  into  the  rushing  stream  and 
stepped  back  upon  the  earth. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  asked  as  the  visitor  made 
no  reply. 

"Sam,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

"Sam  who?" 

"Sam,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"Samson,  eh?"  Jane  looked  at  the  bare- 
legged boy,  hands  deep  in  pockets,  blue  eyes, 
and  red  hair  a  tangled  thatch. 

"You  belong  to  the  Widdy?"  she  asked. 

"Yep." 

"When  did  you  come?"  Jane  felt  really  so- 
ciable.    Her  days  as  school  teacher  were  not  so 

[in] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

far  past,  though  then  it  seemed  ages  since  she 
had  tried  to  teach  just  such  boys  as  Sam. 

"Last  night." 

"Walk  out?" 

"Nope." 

"Sam,  you  will  be  a  millionaire.  They  al- 
ways begin  that  way — and  they  begin  young." 

Sam  stared  at  her,  open-mouthed. 

"Good  morning,"  said  a  pleasant  voice  be- 
hind her.  The  rush  of  Thunder  Creek  had 
drowned  the  sound  of  Burnham's  approach  over 
the  bridge. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Burnham.  I  was  in- 
terested in  our  visitor.  I  believe  he  is  an  in- 
cipient millionaire." 

"He  might  be  an  incipient  imp — with  that 
head  of  hair,"  responded  Burnham  as  he  picked 
up  the  pail  of  water  and  started  for  Jane's 
cabin. 

Sam  suddenly  turned  and  made  for  the 
bridge.  Burnham  glanced  in  that  direction  and 
saw  the  Widdy  making  motions. 

"Breakfast  must  be  ready,"  he  explained  as 
he  set  the  pail  down  at  the  door  and  prepared  to 
follow  Sam.     "By  the  way,  I  brought  up  two 

[112] 


The  Berry  Patch 


letters  and  a  paper  for  you  last  night — and  a 
package." 

"I  '11  come  right  over  and  get  them,"  an- 
swered Jane.  "No  one  came  out  last  week  and 
no  one  went  in,  so  I  have  n't  had  any  mail  since 
I  came." 

In  the  roar  of  the  creek  the  last  words  were 
lost,  but  the  mill  owner  had  little  difficulty  in 
guessing  their  import. 

It  was  a  delightful  September  morning. 
The  fresh  air,  with  the  cool  tang  of  the  North- 
west, the  sunshine  glorifying  the  clearing,  the 
musical  thunder  of  the  water,  the  fragrance  of 
the  early  morning,  all  made  Jane  Myers  well 
satisfied  with  her  change  from  city  schools  to 
the  open  life  of  the  forests.  She  glanced  back 
at  her  cabin  as  she  neared  the  Widdy's  door. 
It  was  really  very  picturesque  backed  by  the 
dark,  impenetrable  forest  and  flanked  by  the 
foaming  white  stream. 

Burnham  glanced  at  her  curiously.  He  had 
wondered  many  a  time  whether  she  regretted 
her  venture,  but  she  was  the  picture  of  content- 
ment this  morning  as  she  greeted  her  neighbor 
cordially. 

[113] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"I  came  over  to  get  some  letters  Mr.  Burn- 
ham  said  he  brought  out." 

"All  right,"  said  the  elder  woman  as  she 
turned  to  Burnham,  "Breakfuss'  ready.  You'd 
better  come  right  in."  Then  she  turned  back 
to  Jane:  "I  knew  there  M  be  two  people  here 
'fore  night.     I  told  Sam  so." 

Burnham  lingered  on  the  step,  hoping  that  the 
Widdy  would  invite  Jane  to  breakfast.  Jane 
lingered  a  moment  because  she  suddenly  realized 
it  was  good  to  have  some  one  to  talk  with. 

"How  did  you  know  it,  Mrs.  Patron?"  she 
asked. 

"  'Cause  I  sneezed  twice  when  I  got  up.  It 
alius  comes  true.  I  told  you  so,"  she  added  a 
little  suspiciously  and  Jane  suddenly  remem- 
bered she  had  heard  of  that  omen  before. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember."  Silence  fell. 
There  was  no  invitation  and  Jane  betook  herself 
across  the  creek  to  her  own  cabin. 

She  had  finished  her  own  breakfast  and  was 
washing  her  dishes  when  she  saw  Burnham  lead- 
ing his  horse  across  the  stream. 

"I  came  over  to  say  good-by,"  he  said  in  his 
usual  cordial  way.     "I  am  going  up  into  the  for- 

[114] 


The  Berry  Patch 


ests  for  a  week  or  ten  days.  Perhaps  I  will  see 
you  as  I  pass  down  again." 

He  had  not  had  the  slightest  intention  of  add- 
ing that  last  remark,  but  something  in  her  face 
made  him  feel  the  sudden  sense  of  loneliness 
which  had  swept  over  her. 

"I  will  be  glad  to  see  you  when  you  come," 
she  answered,  her  face  brightening  at  the  sense 
of  comradeship  which  lay  behind  the  words. 

"Are  you  lonely?" 

He  had  not  meant  to  ask  that,  either. 

"No,  really  I  am  not — only  sometimes." 

"Yes,  I  understand." 

He  swung  himself  easily  up  on  his  horse  and 
sat  there  a  moment  looking  down  upon  her. 

"Don't  get  lonely — don't  let  yourself,"  he  said 
seriously.  "The  moment  you  do  you  will  sink 
under  the  horror  of  something  which  does  n't 
exist.  You  must  remember  that  here  in  the 
forest  we  are  all  good  comrades." 

And  with  a  swing  of  his  hat  and  a  bright 
smile,  Jack  Burnham  vanished  among  the 
trees. 

"She  's  plucky,"  he  said  to  Bob,  as  his  four- 
footed    comrade    picked    his    way   sagaciously 

[115] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

down  the  trail.  "If  she  can  pull  through  the 
first  winter,  I  believe  she  will  stick  it  out." 

But  the  world  was  suddenly  very  empty  to 
Jane.  The  sun  still  shone,  the  light  breeze 
waved  the  topmost  branches  of  the  pines  and 
firs,  but  the  rippling  music  of  the  trees  was  lost  in 
the  crash  of  waters.  There,  was  suddenly  some- 
thing ominous  in  the  sound.  It  was  no  longer 
simply  the  dancing  of  the  foaming  waters, 
sheathed  in  white,  in  the  September  sunshine. 

"Cheer  up,  Jane.     This  won't  do." 

The  words  brought  back  the  memory  of  the 
day  of  the  parody,  the  ruined  hat  and  the  burned 
drawn-work.  How  long  ago  it  all  was!  It  was 
ages  ago,  out  in  some  other  world,  and  it  must 
have  been  some  other  Jane.  She  suddenly 
thought  of  Sam.  The  boy  was  fishing  in  the 
creek. 

"Sam,"  she  called  as  she  went  toward  the 
child,  "don't  you  want  to  go  up  to  the  clearing 
with  me.  There  must  be  plenty  of  huckle- 
berries there." 

Sam  stared. 

"Don't  you  like  huckleberry  pie?" 

A  smile  of  joy  and  a  nod  of  the  tousled  head. 
[116] 


The  Berry  Patch 


"If  you  will  come  up  to  the  clearing  with  me, 
I  will  make  you  a  big  pie,  all  for  yourself." 

Down  went  the  fishing  rod  and  Sam  solemnly 
joined  the  homesteader. 

"We  '11  get  some  pails  and  tell  Mrs.  Patton 
where  we  are  going." 

"Gran'ma?"  asked  the  monosyllabic  boy, 
hardly  recognizing  the  Widdy's  society  name. 

"Yes;  we'll  tell  gran'ma  we're  going  for 
berries  and  that  I  '11  bake  you  a  big  pie  when 
we  get  hack." 

There  was  nothing  "sesquipedalian"  about 
the  Patton  family.  The  Widdy  was  as  mono- 
syllabic as  Sam  when  Jane  told  her  of  the 
berrying  trip. 

"Huh.     Bears,"  she  snapped. 

There  was  reason  for  the  snappiness.  The 
horseshoe  over  the  door  had  dropped. 

"Oh!"  Jane  had  not  been  in  the  forest  long 
enough  to  think  far  ahead.  "They  won't  want 
to  eat  me,"  she  said  hopefully  after  a  moment's 
thought,  remembering  there  was  little  danger 
from  ordinary  bears  in  berry  time,  "they  '11  be 
eating  the  berries.     And  I  '11  take  my  gun." 

Bears  or  no  bears,  she  felt  she  had  to  get  out 
[117] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

into  the  clear  sunshine  that  day.  The  dimness 
of  the  forest  was  depressing  with  the  world  so 
suddenly  empty. 

Up  through  the  woods  they  trudged,  by  a 
trail  which  the  Widdy  pointed  out,  to  a  berry 
patch  at  the  edge  of  the  open  land  on  her 
own  homestead.  It  was  not  far  away  in  real- 
ity, but  through  the  forest  tangle  it  took  a 
long  time.  There  was  no  actual  trail.  They 
merely  took  the  line  of  least  resistance.  The 
heavy,  glossy  leaves  and  branches  of  the  salal 
bushes  with  their  tangle  of  tough  roots  seemed 
ever  in  their  way.  An  occasional  jump  from 
bare-footed  Sam  revealed  the  presence  of  the 
prickly  leaves  of  the  Oregon  grape,  just  turn- 
ing, in  the  sunshine,  to  a  glowing  crimson.  The 
treetops  met  overhead  and  the  light  which 
filtered  through  was  cool  green.  Moss-covered 
trees  lay  in  their  path,  covered  with  fern  brake 
as  tall  as  she,  with  long  swordlike  ferns,  and 
with  more  salal. 

"This  is  a  tangle,"  said  Jane  as  they  came  to 
one  spot.  She  had  followed  a  tree  trunk  which 
seemed  to  offer  its  services  as  a  bridge  across  a 
maze  of  fallen  trees — trees  which  had  evidently 

[118] 


The  Berry  Patch 


fallen  years  before.     "What  if  we  should  lose 
our  way,  Sam?" 

There  was  no  response. 

"Do  you  suppose  we  can  get  through  here, 
Sam?"  She  spoke  rather  anxiously.  "I  don't 
believe — I  know — "     She  paused  abruptly. 

Still  no  response. 

"Sam,  I'm  afraid — Good  heavens!  Sam!" 
For  Sam  had  vanished.  With  her  heart  in  her 
mouth,  Jane  looked  about  her.  It  was  still  the 
tangle  of  decaying  tree  trunks,  covered  with 
dense  underbrush,  and  the  tall  straight  growth 
of  trees  in  their  prime.  What  had  become  of 
the  boy?  He  had  been  there  a  few  moments  be- 
fore. 

Again  and  again  Jane's  frightened  voice  rang 
through  the  trees.  There  was  no  answer  from 
Sam  or  from  anything  else.  What  else  she  ex- 
pected to  answer  her,  she  did  not  reason  out. 
At  last,  as  the  thoroughly  alarmed  girl  stared 
about  her,  there  was  a  slight  motion  in  the  ferns 
and  bushes  some  thirty  feet  away.  Walking  in 
that  direction,  Jane  was  amazed  to  see  Sam's 
red  head  coming  cautiously  up  through  the 
space  between  two  fallen  tree  trunks. 

[119] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"Where  in  the  world,  Sam—" 

"Fell  in,"  responded  the  boy  with  more 
energy  than  he  had  yet  shown. 

"Fell  in  where?" 

"Down  there,"  motioning  with  his  bare  foot 
to  an  indefinite  space  beneath  the  trunk  on  which 
they  were  standing. 

"How  could  you?  Is  there  a  hole  down 
there?" 

"You  bet." 

"A  big  one?" 

"Yep.     Betcher." 

"How  big?" 

"Awful  big." 

Jane  looked  at  him  incredulously.  How  big 
was  big  to  a  red-headed  boy?  Still,  the  boy 
had  dropped  completely  out  of  sight  for  several 
minutes — unless  he  was  playing  some  joke  on 
her.     She  looked  at  him  searchingly. 

"Can  you  get  that  for  me?"  Jane  pointed  to 
a  pole  some  twenty-five  feet  long — a  sapling 
which  had  been  crushed  and  half-broken  off. 
Sam  obediently  pulled  and  tugged  at  the  dead 
sapling  until  he  had  wrenched  it  loose. 

"You  carry  these  pails  until  I  see  how  deep 
[  120] 


The  Berry  Patch 


that  hole  is.     Be  careful.     Don't  fall  in  there 
again." 

Jane  lifted  the  pole  upright,  jammed  the  end 
of  it  through  a  space  near  that  through  which 
Sam  had  wriggled  out  and  lowered  it.  Down 
it  went,  ten  feet — fifteen  feet — twenty  feet,  until 
to  her  amazement,  as  the  pole  touched  some- 
thing which  impeded  its  further  progress,  less 
than  two  feet  remained  above  ground. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  the  boy.  "Have 
these  trees  fallen  across  an  old  ravine?"  That 
seemed  the  only  solution. 

"You  betcher,"  was  the  emphatic  reply. 

"Are  you  sure?  Have  you  ever  seen  a  ravine 
covered  over  this  way  before?" 

"Yep,  lot  of  times.     The  trees  is  so  big." 

Sam's  fright  seemed  to  have  given  him  un- 
usual powers  of  speech.  Bears  lived  in  such 
sheltered  places,  he  told  Jane,  and  she  gripped 
her  gun  more  closely.  But  by  the  time  Sam  got 
through  talking  they  were  out  in  the  open  sun- 
shine at  the  edge  of  the  meadow. 

The  excitement  of  the  hidden  ravine,  the  clear 
sunshine,  the  abundance  of  huckleberries,  big 
bunches  of  spicy,  purple  Oregon  grapes,   and 

[121] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

the  interest  of  the  boy,  put  out  of  Jane's  mind 
the  sense  of  loneliness.  The  old  spirit  of  ad- 
venture came  back.  They  filled  the  pails  and 
sat  down  to  rest. 

Sam  was  still  fairly  loquacious.  His  first  de- 
mand was  for  a  story.  A  story!  Jane's  mind 
went  back  rapidly  over  those  she  had  told  her 
pupils  in  school.  None  seemed  to  fit  the  occa- 
sion. 

"A  story  about  what,  Sam?" 

"  'Bout  Injuns." 

"Indians?" 

"Yep." 

Jane  tried  to  think  of  a  good  Indian  story. 
Suddenly  she  remembered  a  tradition  Burnham 
had  told  her  on  their  journey  out. 

"All  right,  Sam.  Now  sit  still."  Then  she 
began  an  Indian  tradition  of  the  first  white 
man's  ship  ever  seen. 

"Long,  long  ago,  before  white  men  knew  any- 
thing about  this  Northwest  Coast,  a  strange 
thing  happened  to  some  Indians  who  lived  on 
the  seashore  near  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia 
river,  and  this  is  the  way  the  Indians  tell  the 
story. 

[  122  ] 


The  Berry  Patch 


"The  son  of  a  woman  had  died.  She  wailed 
for  him  a  whole  year  and  then  stopped.  Now 
one  day  she  went  to  Ne  Ahk-stow  (near  Sea- 
side), and  returned  home  walking  along  the 
beach.  When  she  came  near  the  Indian  village 
at  Clatsop,  she  saw  something.  She  thought  it 
was  a  whale.  When  she  came  nearer,  she  saw 
two  spruce  trees  standing  upright  in  it.  She 
thought,  'Behold!  It  is  no  whale.  It  is  a 
monster.' 

"She  reached  the  Thing  and  saw  that  the  out- 
side was  all  covered  with  bright  metal.  It  was 
copper,  but  she  did  not  know  it.  Ropes  were 
tied  on  those  spruce  trees  and  the  Thing  was  full 
of  iron.  Then  a  bear  came  out  of  it.  He  stood 
on  this  Thing  that  lay  on  the  beach.  He  looked 
like  a  bear,  with  long  hair,  but  his  face  was  like 
a  man's. 

"Then  the  woman  went  home,  but  as  she 
thought  of  her  son  she  wailed,  'Oh,  my  son  is 
dead  and  the  Thing  we  hear  about  in  tales  is 
lying  on  the  beach.'  She  thought  this  strange 
Thing  on  the  beach  and  the  bear  were  from  the 
ghost  land.     So  she  kept  on  wailing. 

"Now  the  Indians  in  the  village  heard  her 
[  123  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

wailing.  They  said,  'Oh,  a  person  comes  cry- 
ing! Perhaps  some  one  has  struck  her.'  So 
they  got  out  their  bows  and  arrows  and  made 
ready  to  fight.  But  the  Indian  woman  kept 
crying,  (Oh,  my  son  is  dead  and  the  Thing  we 
hear  about  in  tales  is  lying  on  the  beach.'  Then 
the  Indians  began  to  run  down  the  shore  toward 
the  Thing.  The  woman  told  some  of  them, 
'A  Thing  lies  on  the  beach.  There  are  two 
bears  in  it, — or  maybe  they  are  people.' 

"Now  when  the  Indians  reached  the  Thing 
that  lay  on  the  shore,  two  bears  stood  in  it  and 
they  had  copper  kettles  in  their  hands.  Then 
the  Indians  saw  that  the  Thing  was  really  a 
great  'canoe'  with  two  trees  standing  in  it.  It 
was  a  very  strange-looking  canoe.  Then  they 
began  to  watch  the  bears. 

"The  bears  built  a  small  fire,  put  some  corn 
in  a  kettle,  and  soon  it  began  to  pop.  The  In- 
dians were  so  surprised  to  see  that  corn  fly  up 
and  down  as  it  popped!  Then  the  bears  made 
motions  to  show  that  they  were  thirsty.  So  the 
chief  sent  two  Indians  to  get  fresh  water  while 
he  went  on  the  ship  to  look  at  the  bears.  They 
looked   like   men.     He  compared  their  hands 

[124] 


The  Berry  Patch 


with  his.  They  were  just  alike.  So  were  their 
faces  alike,  only  the  strangers  had  long  beards 
and  that  is  why  the  Indians  thought  they  were 
bears. 

"After  a  while,  one  of  the  Indians  went  down 
into  the  hold  of  the  ship.  It  was  full  of  boxes 
and  he  saw  long  strings  of  buttons  there.  He 
went  to  call  his  relatives,  but  before  he  could 
get  back,  other  Indians  had  set  the  ship  on  fire. 
They  wanted  the  metal  in  it. 

"So  these  two  men  were  prisoners  and  their 
ship  was  burned. 

"Now  all  the  Indians  for  a  long  distance 
around  heard  of  this  strange  canoe  with  the  two 
strange  men  in  it.  Whole  tribes  came  down  to 
Clatsop  to  see  them  and  each  tribe  was  anxious 
to  get  one  of  the  'bears'  for  a  slave.  They  al- 
most went  to  war  over  them.  At  last  the  chief 
of  the  Clatsops  took  one  man  as  a  slave  and  the 
chief  of  the  Willapa  Indians,  who  lived  farther 
north,  took  the  other. 

"The  Clatsop  Indians  became  very  rich  be- 
cause they  sold  the  metal  from  the  ship.  A 
piece  of  iron  five  or  six  inches  long  would 
buy  one  slave.     A  piece  of  copper  as  wide  as 

[125] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

two  fingers  and  long  enough  to  go  around  the 
arm  for  a  bracelet  was  also  the  price  of  a  slave. 
One  nail  was  the  price  of  a  good  deerskin.  So 
the  Clatsops  became  very  rich. 

"But  whose  ship  was  this?  And  who  were 
the  men?  No  one  knows.  No  one  even  knows 
whether  they  were  Japanese,  Chinese,  or  Span- 
iards. The  ship  was  wrecked  on  the  beach  and 
the  men  became  the  slaves  of  the  Indians.  They 
were,  perhaps,  the  first  white  men  to  see  this 
coast.  But  we  know  about  it  only  because  the 
Indians  told  the  story.  No  one  else  could 
know." 

Jane  glanced  up  as  she  finished  her  story,  and 
as  if  a  miracle  had  happened,  over  the  treetops 
in  the  distance  she  saw  the  tip  of  a  snow-capped 
mountain,  dazzling,  gleaming,  in  the  bright  sun- 
light. It  must  have  been  hidden  behind  the 
cloud  banks.  The  world  was  suddenly  very 
bright.  She  was  glad  she  had  taken  up  a  home- 
stead,— glad  she  had  come  to  the  valley  of  the 
Illahee.  Free,  with  her  own  cabin,  living  in 
the  open,  with  good  comrades  to  whom  she 
could  talk  now  and  then  as  they  passed  on  the 
trail — what  more  could  she  want? 

[126] 


The  Berry  Patch 


"Look!"  said  Sam,  pointing  toward  the  snowy- 
peak. 

"Yes,  I  see.     Isn't  it  beautiful,  Sam!" 

But  Sam  only  nestled  more  closely  to  her, 
with  his  hand  still  outstretched.  He  was  rather 
heavy  and  his  weight  was  not  altogether  com- 
fortable. 

"Look!"  he  said  again  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  am  looking." 

"Is  ft  a  bar?" 

"What?    Where?     Bear?" 

"There!"  Sam's  finger  still  pointed  toward 
the  mountain — or  under  it  to  a  clump  of  small 
spruce  trees. 

With  a  sudden  fear  Jane  seized  the  gun  at 
her  side.  She,  too,  had  caught  sight  of  some- 
thing dark  behind  those  spiky  Christmas  trees. 

"Let  ;i  go,"  said  the  boy. 

His  frightened  voice  startled  Jane. 

"All  right.  Let 's  pick  up  our  things  and 
go — quick." 

Sam  promptly  upset  one  of  the  berry  pails, 
scraping  back  more  grass  and  dead  leaves  than 
berries.     Off  they  started  hurriedly. 

Jane  looked  back  every  now  and  then,  fearing 
[  127  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

what  she  might  see.  As  she  gained  the  edge  of 
the  trees  and  looked  back,  she  saw  something 
dark  standing  among  those  young  spruces.  It 
immediately  dropped  to  earth  again,  but  in  that 
hurried,  startled  glance  it  looked  like  the  figure 
of  a  man. 

"Sam,"  she  said  when  she  could  get  her  breath, 
"take  these  pails  and  carry  them  carefully. 
Don't  fall  into  any  more  ravines.  And  I  '11 
carry  my  gun  so  that  I  can  shoot  if  I  see — er — a 
bear." 

Sam  stolidly  carried  the  pails,  walking  care- 
fully with  simian  skill  along  the  tree  trunks 
when  they  came  to  the  old  covered  ravine. 
Jane  was  no  less  careful,  for  she  had  no  desire 
to  visit  the  lair  of  any  wild  animal.  But  she  did 
some  busy  thinking. 

If  a  man,  who  could  he  be?  Surely  not  a 
forester  or  any  man  who  had  a  right  to  be  in  the 
forest.  An  outlaw?  But  it  must  have  been  a 
bear.  They  look  like  men  when  standing  up- 
right, especially  with  a  screen  of  young  spruce 
trees  between.  Yet  a  bear  would  have  been 
among  the  berry  bushes,  not  spying  on  her  from 
the  shelter  of  the  young  spruces.     And  down  in 

[128] 


The  Berry  Patch 


her  heart  she  was  sure  that  the  creature  had  two 
feet  and  two  hands,  not  four  feet. 

"Yer  back  early,"  said  the  Widdy  as  the  two 
came  up  to  her  cabin  door. 

"Berries  were  plentiful  and  it  did  n't  take 
long.  It  was  beautiful.  A  glorious  snow  peak 
was  in  view.  We  had  some  adventures,  too. 
Sam  fell  into  an  old  ravine  covered  by  fallen 
trees,  and  we  saw  a  bear." 

"Nope,"  said  Sam  firmly,  "a  man." 

"A  man?"  shrilled  the  Widdy. 

"Yep." 

"One  of  them  forest  men?"  She  looked  at 
Jane  suspiciously. 

"No,  indeed.  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  a 
bear  or  a  man.  It  was  something  watching  us 
from  behind  some  young  spruce  saplings.  We 
did  n't  wait  to  see.  I  got  my  gun  and  gave  Sam 
the  pails  and  we  came  back." 

Her  rather  frightened  voice  betrayed  her. 

"I  knowed  it,"  said  the  Widdy  ominously. 
"I  knowed  it."  Jane  remembered  the  fallen 
horseshoe. 

"But  nothing  did  happen,  you  see,"  she  said 
regaining  her  quiet  tone.     "Nothing  at  all." 

[  129  ] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DOUGHNUTS 

IT  was  only  two  days  later  that  Burnham,  rid- 
ing his  horse  to  his  cabin  one  evening,  saw 
smoke  pouring  from  the  chimney.  A  light 
from  the  open  door  brightened  the  gathering 
dimness  of  the  forest. 

A  figure,  black  against  the  lamplight  within, 
appeared  at  the  door. 

"Hello,  Jack." 

"Hello.  Thought  you  were  making  trails  up 
at  the  peak." 

"I  came  down  yesterday  evening.  The  men 
are  still  up  there." 

Burnham  dismounted  and  led  his  horse  to  the 
old  shelter  of  poles  and  fir  branches,  stumbling 
over  the  new  logs  for  the  barn.  There  had  long 
been  a  need  for  a  barn  there. 

As  he  came  into  the  house,  fragrant  with 
coffee  and  bacon,  as  usual,  he  found  Goss  cook- 
ing.    The  table  was  still  hanging  against  the 

[  130] 


Doughnuts 


wall  with  no  dishes  yet  on  it.  Burnham  pulled 
it  out  and  tossed  a  few  dishes  upon  it.  Then 
Goss  broke  the  silence. 

"By  the  way,  I  had  to  interrupt  your  work  on 
the  barn.  I  found  the  bridge  needed  attention, 
so  I  ordered  the  men  down  there.  We  have  all 
we  can  do  before  winter  is  upon  us." 

"There 's  no  special  hurry  about  the  barn. 
They  can  do  that  any  day." 

"I  sent  them  down  several  days  ago.  They 
ought  to  be  back  by  to-morrow." 

Supper  over,  there  was  the  usual  long  silence 
between  them  until  the  curling  blue  smoke  of 
their  pipes  had  tinted  the  atmosphere.  Then 
Goss  spoke. 

"Supplies  are  about  out.  Breakfast  will 
clean  up  everything." 

"Everything?" 

"Yes;  bacon,  ham,  potatoes,  coffee,  sugar  and 
bread.  I  thought  there  was  plenty  when  I  left 
here." 

"Grub  thieves?" 

"Looks  so — unless  the  carpenters  have  helped 
themselves.     I  did  n't  care  to  question  them." 

"Who  could  it  be?" 

[131] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure.  But  everything  is 
gone." 

Burnham  thought  over  the  situation  a  few 
moments. 

"I  '11  go  down  to  the  Widdy's  to-morrow  and 
see  what  she  can  spare.  We  bring  her  supplies 
up  to  her  often  enough." 

It  was  nearly  five  o'clock  the  next  afternoon 
when  Jane,  putting  the  last  touches  to  her  new 
cabin,  saw  Burnham  come  up  the  trail  to  the 
house.  He  stopped  to  pass  the  time  of  day  and 
mention  his  errand. 

"I  am  going  to  beg  some  supplies  of  the 
Widdy,"  he  said  in  a  pause  in  the  talk.  "It  looks 
as  though  we  had  grub  thieves  up  the  trail. 
When  Goss  came  back  yesterday,  nearly  every- 
thing was  gone." 

Both  glanced  toward  the  closed  door  of  the 
Widdy's  cabin. 

"Oh,  I  almost  forgot,"  exclaimed  Jane.  "She 
went  into  Illahee  this  morning  with  Sam.  But 
I  can  let  you  have  supplies,  and  I  should  be  very 
glad,"  she  added,  with  more  color  in  her  face, 
"if  you  would  take  dinner  with  me.  Besides,  I 
should  like  to  ask  you  about  something." 

[  132  ] 


Doughnuts 


"I  shall  accept  with  pleasure,"  was  the  prompt 
answer. 

It  was  too  late  to  get  back  in  time  for  Goss's 
supper  and  the  Swedes  had  returned  to  their 
barn  building  so  he  could  borrow  a  few  sup- 
plies of  them. 

It  had  been  a  matter  of  principle  with  Jane 
Myers  that  every  woman  should  be  a  good  cook, 
and  though  her  last  eight  years  had  been  spent 
in  teaching  and  boarding  where  kitchen  oppor- 
tunities were  scant,  she  had  nevertheless  made  it 
a  point  not  to  forget  the  early  lessons  in  cooking. 
Her  mother  had  been  a  famous  cook.  That 
particular  day,  too,  as  it  happened,  Jane  had 
been  possessed  of  a  sense  of  sudden  forlornness 
when  she  saw  Dempsey  step  down  the  trail  with 
Mrs.  Patton  on  his  back  while  Sam  trotted 
alongside.  Dempsey  knew  well  how  to  carry 
the  two,  but  Sam  preferred  to  walk  for  a  while. 
The  light  seemed  to  go  out  for  a  moment  when 
the  bright  red  head  vanished  among  the  bushes. 
So  Jane,  haunted  with  the  sense  of  an  empty 
world,  had  spent  the  day  putting  finishing 
touches  to  her  cabin,  baking  bread  and  ginger 
cakes,  and  planning  an  elaborate  dinner  for  one. 

E 133] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

But  it  was  to  be  a  dinner  for  two,  as  it  turned 
out,  and  Burnham  was  glad  enough  to  sit  down 
to  the  table  with  its  white  cloth,  china  which  was 
neither  ironstone,  nor  tin,  and  a  dinner  of  some- 
thing beside  bacon  and  eggs  and  potatoes.  Hot 
rolls  just  out  of  the  oven,  jam,  creamed  eggs  such 
as  neither  he  nor  the  forest  ranger  could  cook, 
asparagus  tips,  scalloped  tomatoes,  and  more 
than  that,  a  pleasant-faced  girl  with  brown  hair 
and  violet  eyes  to  pour  out  his  coffee  and  talk  to 
him.  He  blessed  Bert  Fairfax  for  his  letter  of 
introduction.  Such  good  comradeship  in  so 
short  a  time  would  otherwise  have  been  impos- 
sible, as  he  well  knew,  despite  the  exigencies  of 
forest  life. 

Time  flew  quickly  enough  as  they  dropped 
down  into  comfortable  chairs  before  the  open 
fireplace.  He  stretched  himself  in  the  big 
rocker  which  had  tripped  up  Goss.  A  sudden 
memory  of  it  made  him  laugh.  He  sat  up  and 
looked  down  at  the  rug  under  his  feet.  The 
very  one  which  had  hit  the  forester  in  the  face! 

The  joke  was  too  good  a  one  to  keep.  Jane's 
inquiring  face  brought  out  the  whole  story,  and 

[134] 


Doughnuts 


a  good  laugh  they  had  over  the  freight  yard  in 
that  other  cabin,  five  miles  up  the  trail. 

"And  your  friend?"  she  asked.  She  won- 
dered a  little  that  she  had  not  seen  him. 

"Did  n't  you  see  him  when  he  was  down?" 

"No." 

"That's  strange.  He  was  down  for  dinner 
three  days  ago  at  the  Widdy's — why,  he  's  been 
down  here  twice  since  you  've  been  here." 

"I  have  n't  seen  him." 

"You  will.  Goss  is  a  splendid  fellow,  but  I 
don't  know  just  how  sociable  he  is  to  women." 

"Why  is  he  out  here?" 

"He  loves  the  forests — and — and —  Why  are 
you  out  here?" 

He  could  n't  resist  the  temptation,  and  she  had 
given  him  too  good  a  chance  to  ask  that  question. 

"I  have  taught  school  for  eight  years  and  I 
was  dead  tired  of  it.  A  friend  of  mine  took  up 
a  homestead  in  Colorado  and  she  seemed  to  find 
it  such  fun,  it  influenced  me.  But  I  wanted  the 
forests." 

"The  timber  is  worth  more  of  course — if  you 
sell  it." 

[135] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"It  was  not  only  that,  but  the  open  plains  do 
not  attract  me.     I  care  more  for  the  forest." 

"It  is  much  more  dangerous." 

"Really?" 

"Yes,  in  many  ways." 

"But  there  would  be  no  real  danger  here  for 
me!" 

"I  hope  not."  He  answered  in  a  rather  non- 
committal tone.  "What  did  Fairfax  say  about 
your  coming?" 

"He  disapproved  of  it.  Said  it  was  no  place 
for  a  woman,  but  that  was  because  Sue  was  so 
shocked  at  the  idea.  Sue  is  n't  the  pioneer  type, 
and  Bert  Fairfax  is  n't  either.  They  thought  I 
ought  to  stay  in  the  city  and  teach  until — "  She 
hesitated  with  a  little  embarrassment.  She  had 
not  intended  to  say  so  much. 

"Until  you  get  married?  I  hope  you  are  not 
a  man  hater." 

"No,  indeed.  But  I  think  every  woman  has  a 
right  to  plan  her  life  as  makes  it  happiest  for 
herself." 

"And  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  happier 
out  here,  alone  in  the  forest  and  in  the  midst  of 
real  danger,  than  with  your  friends  in  a  city?" 

[136] 


Doughnuts 


"I  was  so  tired  of  the  routine  of  teaching. 
Besides,  I  only  have  to  stay  here  five  years,  or  if 
I  wanted  to  I  could  commute  in  less  time  than 
that,  couldn't  I?" 

"You  can  commute,  but  I  don't  know  how  easy 
it  would  be  to  prove  up  on  your  claim  if  you 
abandon  it  the  moment  you  get  it.  Several 
patents  have  been  recalled  on  that  score  lately. 
It  used  to  be  possible,  but  the  government  is 
growing  more  rigid  in  its  definition  of  home- 
steading." 

"I  could  commute  and  stay  here  a  year  or  two 
more,  and  then  come  here  summers?" 

"Perhaps.  Yes,  I  guess  so.  But  even  then 
that 's  two  or  three  years  out  here  in  the  forests." 

He  caught  sight  of  her  mandolin.  "Sing 
something  for  me,"  he  asked. 

Jane  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"May  I  ask  you  something  first?  You  men- 
tioned danger  and  that  reminded  me  of  what  I 
spoke  of  when  you  first  came."  She  plunged 
into  the  matter  head  foremost  and  told  him  of 
the  man  in  the  berry  patch. 

Burnham's  face  grew  serious. 

"You  are  sure  it  was  a  man?" 
C  137] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"I  was  not  so  sure  at  the  time.  But  Sam  was 
positive,  and  the  more  I  think  of  his  appearance 
as  I  saw  him  just  as  we  reached  the  edge  of  the 
clearing,  the  more  certain  I  am  it  was  a  man. 
And  then  yesterday!" 

"What?" 

"Yesterday  I  went  behind  the  cabin,  just  a 
little  ways,  following  the  creek  up — " 

"Alone?" 

"Yes,  but  I  had  my  revolver  with  me." 

"Can  you  shoot?" 

"Bert  Fairfax  made  me  learn  last  summer. 
I  learned  to  shoot  a  little.  But  if  I  were 
frightened  I  am  not  sure  that  I  could  hit  any- 
thing." 

"I  did  n't  mean  to  interrupt  you.  What  did 
you  see?" 

"Nothing.  That  was  just  it.  I  heard  a 
slight  sound — or  thought  I  did — and  I  turned  in 
that  direction  just  in  time  to  see  the  bushes  sway. 
I  stopped  short — and  then  I  started  over  there 
— and  then  I  stopped  again.  I  thought  when  I 
stopped  it  might  be  a  bear,  or  a  cougar,  or  some 
animal,  and  then  I  heard  that  little  sound 
again." 

[138] 


Doughnuts 


"You  didn't  see  anything?" 
"Nothing  but  the  swaying  of  the  bushes." 
Burnham's  face  was  grave.  Should  he  tell 
her  or  not?  What  business  did  a  woman  have 
to  come  into  such  a  place,  anyway?  Why 
should  a  good-looking  teacher  want  to  home- 
stead in  the  wilderness?  "There  's  a  love  affair 
back  of  it  somewhere,"  was  his  decision.  For 
the  moment  he  was  inclined  to  tell  himself  that 
it  was  none  of  his  business.  She  had  been 
warned  that  there  was  danger.  Fairfax  had 
warned  her,  and  he  had.  If  he  told  his  suspi- 
cions, she  would  be  afraid  to  leave  her  cabin. 
If  he  did  not,  she  might  meet  with  some  danger 
any  minute.  The  Widdy  was  brave  enough  for 
herself,  but  the  Widdy  had  had  a  hard  life  of 
it  and  gave  little  thought  to  generous  actions  for 
others.  Even  if  she  were  more  friendly,  what 
good  would  she  be  if  she  were  in  Illahee,  or 
even  in  her  own  cabin  with  that  roaring  creek 
between?  No  sound  could  reach  her  over  the 
rush  and  thunder  of  those  waters.  And  if  the 
tree-bridge  were  ever  removed,  neither  woman 
could  possibly  cross  the  stream.  Then  his  sense 
of  chivalry  made  him  accept  the  responsibility. 

t  139] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

He  turned  to  find  her  studying  his  face. 

"I  know  what  you  are  thinking,"  she  said. 
"You  are  wondering  why  I  ever  came  here. 
Yet  it 's  about  as  safe  here,  I  fancy,  as  a  city 
street — in  any  city.  But  if  there  is  any  danger, 
I  want  to  know  it.  A  hidden  danger — the  hor- 
ror of  something  unknown — that  is  harder  to 
face  than  any  actual,  acknowledged  danger. 
What  is  it?" 

"I  think  it  must  be  the  squatter." 

"The  tree-stump  house  man?" 

"Yes.  Did  I  tell  you  he  was  supposed  to  be 
a  criminal  of  some  sort  in  hiding — nobody 
knows  what.  He  left  here  about  two  years  ago 
and  no  one  has  seen  him  since.  But  he  may 
have  come  back." 

"But  he  's  miles  away." 

"You  mean  the  stump  house  is.  He  's  likely 
to  be  anywhere.  I  fancy  that 's  where  our  grub 
has  gone." 

"What  shall  I  do?" 

"Never  go  out  of  your  cabin  without  your  re- 
volver or  gun — and  keep  your  revolver  handy 
inside  here,  too.  Practice  shooting,  every  day, 
at  long  range.     Never  let  your  supply  of  am- 

[  140] 


Doughnuts 


munition  or  food  get  low.     Are  you  well  locked 
up  here,  when  you  are  out,  and  at  night?" 

"Yes." 

Burnham  got  up  and  examined  the  fastenings 
of  the  windows  and  door. 

"They  look  strong.  Moreover,  get  a  good 
dog.  You  must  have  one.  I  am  surprised 
that  Fairfax  did  not  see  to  that.  And  above  all, 
Miss  Myers,  remember  that  here  in  this  im- 
mense forest,  we  are  all  comrades.  Never  hesi- 
tate, from  any  sense  of  false  delicacy,  to  ask  any- 
thing of  Goss  or  myself,  or  the  Widdy  either, 
no  matter  what  it  is,  nor  at  what  time.  Will 
you  promise  that?" 

"I  should  be  putting  too  much  responsi- 
bility upon  both  of  you.  And,  besides,  I  have 
never  met  him — never  even  seen  him,  although 
you  say  he  has  been  down  here  twice  since  I 
came." 

"What  difference  does  that  make?  He  is  a 
gentleman — out  here  in  the  forest  to  protect 
it  because  he  loves  it.  Are  n't  you  of  as 
much  value  as  a  forest  tree?  I  suppose  he  was 
in  a  rush  when  he  was  down  here  and  ate  his 
dinner  and  rode  off." 

[141] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"If  you  put  it  in  that  way — " 

"I  do  put  it  in  that  way,  most  emphatically. 
Another  thing  is  that  we  must  ask  you  to  follow 
our  directions." 

Jane  hesitated.  It  was  rather  a  broad  re- 
quest. 

"We  can't  help  you,  you  know,  if  you  go  off 
on  a  tangent  just  at  a  critical  moment.  And  a 
man  can  never  foresee  just  what  a  woman  is  go- 
ing to  do." 

"I  '11  promise  this.  I  '11  follow  your  instruc- 
tions when  they  seem  at  all  reasonable."  That 
was  all  the  answer  he  could  get. 

Burnham  glanced  at  his  watch.  It  was  later 
than  he  supposed — nine  o'clock — and  he  had 
five  miles  to  go.  He  glanced  around  again, 
gauging  the  safety  of  the  cabin,  nodded  his  head 
in  approval,  and  started  out  for  Bob.  In  a  few 
moments  he  was  back. 

"Another  thing,  Miss  Myers,"  he  said  to  the 
girl  standing  in  the  doorway  as  he  fastened  the 
various  food  supplies  to  the  saddle,  with  an 
especial  pat  on  the  sugar  and  coffee,  "grub  up 
the  bushes  around  your  cabin  so  that  you  have  a 
clear  view  of  things.     It  might  not  be  a  bad 

[  142  3 


Doughnuts 


idea  to  get  out  the  stumps  as  soon  as  you  can 
have  it  done." 

"Thank  you,  very  much.  I  feel  perfectly 
safe  since  I  know  I  can  at  least  talk  things  over 
with  you.     Good  night." 

"Good-night,"  he  called  back  and  half  turned 
in  his  saddle,  as  Bob  started  down  the  trail,  for 
a  last  view  of  the  tall  figure  silhouetted  against 
the  light.  As  he  passed  into  the  blackness  of 
the  night,  she  turned  and  closed  the  door,  giving 
first  one  shivery  glance  in  the  direction  of  the 
black,  unlighted  cabin  across  the  creek. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  Burnham  at  last 
reached  the  cabin  and  his  cheerful  yodel  aroused 
Goss,  asleep  before  the  fire. 

"You're  a  slow  one.  What's  happened? 
Did  you  bring  the  grub?" 

"You  bet.  I  did  n't  get  over  to  the  Widdy's 
until  late." 

"Have  a  good  dinner?"  Goss  had  had  a  very 
slim  one. 

"Yes."  Burnham  brought  in  the  supplies  as 
he  spoke. 

Goss  looked  them  over.  "Bacon,  eggs,  coffee, 
bread,  sugar,  potatoes — what's  this?" 

[143] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"Doughnuts.  She  had  just  baked  'em.  In- 
sisted that  I  should  take  them." 

"Of  course."  There  was  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment as  Goss  opened  the  bag  of  doughnuts. 

"H'm-m-m-m!  Doughnuts!  Where  are  the 
holes?" 

Burnham  turned  around  guiltily  as  Goss 
pulled  out  of  a  small  sack  a  dozen  small,  fresh 
ginger  cakes. 

"I — I — er — ate  the  holes,"  he  answered 
brazenly. 

"Did  the  Widdy  have  company?"  He  could 
hardly  imagine  it,  and  though  the  figure  of 
Jane  Myers,  gaunt,  lanky,  awkward  and  hard- 
handed,  rose  before  his  mind's  eye,  he  immedi- 
ately banished  the  picture.  She  would  hardly 
interest  him. 

"No,"  answered  Burnham. 

"I  suppose  Jane  is  as  tall  and  raw-boned  as 
ever?  I  have  missed  seeing  her  when  I  was 
there." 

"Jane  is  as  tall  as  ever,"  answered  Burnham 
cheerfully.  "By  the  way,  I  have  reason  to  think 
that  the  squatter  is  back  in  this  section.  I  think 
that  might  identify  our  grub  thief." 

[  144] 


Doughnuts 


"Ole  told  me  this  afternoon  that  last  week  he 
saw  a  suspicious-looking  man  skulking  around, 
just  at  dusk.  Not  one  of  them  thought  to  watch 
him!  But  the  description,  such  as  I  could  get, 
seemed  to  fit." 

Burnham  looked  serious.  Then  Jane  was 
right.  She  had  seen  a  man  in  the  berry  patch 
and  it  must  have  been  the  squatter.  It  was 
probably  the  squatter  who  had  made  the  bushes 
sway.  But  there  was  nothing  to  be  done.  He 
had  warned  her  of  danger,  and  Fairfax  had 
done  so,  and  she  would  have  to  look  out  for  her- 
self. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  the  heavy  breathing  of 
the  two  men  from  the  bunks  at  the  end  of  the 
cabin  gave  clear  evidence  that  both  Jane  and  the 
squatter  were  beyond  the  memory  of  either. 


[145] 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  DOUGLAS  FIR 

THE  bridge  was  mended,  the  barn  was  fin- 
ished and  the  carpenters  were  homeward 
bound.  Supplies  for  Burnham  and  for  the  two 
homesteaders  were  coming  out  on  the  morrow 
on  horses  and  the  men  would  return  on  their 
backs.  But  the  recollection  of  the  Widdy's 
cooking  prompted  them  to  walk  the  five  miles 
to  the  cabin  and  take  the  horses  from  there. 
Goss  and  Burnham  were  coming  down  as  well, 
so  the  carpenters  notified  Mrs.  Patton.  And 
the  Widdy  was  putting  in  a  busy  afternoon 
cooking.  The  money  thus  unexpectedly  earned 
in  the  depths  of  the  wilderness  was  of  impor- 
tance to  her. 

Burnham  reached  the  cabins  first  and  crossed 
the  bridge  to  the  Widdy's. 

"Ole  told  you  we  were  coming,  did  he?  All 
right."  Still  he  hesitated  on  the  doorstep. 
Finally  he  turned  back. 

[146] 


The  Douglas  Fir 


"Did  you  know  that  the  squatter  was  back?" 

"What  squatter?" 

"The  man  who  used  to  live  in  the  tree  stump 
down  the  trail.  He  is  supposed  to  be  in  hiding 
from  the  law — nobody  knows.  But  it 's  well  to 
keep  your  food  locked  up,  and  your  revolver 
loaded,  and  not  to  leave  your  door  unlocked. 
If  you  should  get  frightened,  Goss  or  I — " 

"If  ye 're  not  a  hundred  miles  from  here!" 

"Of  course.  But  we  want  to  protect  you  and 
Miss  Myers — any  woman  homesteader.  By  the 
way,"  and  now  Burnham  was  getting  around 
to  his  point,  "Miss  Myers  has  never  met  Goss. 
I  'd  like  it  if  you  'd  invite  her  over  to  supper 
with  us  this  evening." 

"Huh!"  The  Widdy  could  put  an  immense 
emphasis  into  a  single  word  when  she  chose, 
but  even  more  into  a  glance  from  her  keen, 
shrewd  eyes.  "No,  I  '11  not  invite  her.  She  'd 
better  to  stay  whar  she  is.     Huh!" 

Burnham  regained  his  dignity. 

"This  is  a  matter  of  importance.  You  may 
do  as  you  please.  I  will  see  that  she  meets  the 
forest  ranger  of  this  district.  It  h  necessary  so 
long  as  that  squatter 's  around." 

[147] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Silence  was  the  Widdy's  answer,  and  Burn- 
ham  walked  off  across  the  bridge.  But  Fate 
had  another  sort  of  introduction  in  store  for 
Jane. 

Goss  rode  slowly  up  the  trail  and  stopped 
long  enough  to  take  in  with  experienced  eye  the 
new  cabin  and  its  surroundings.  He  tied  Dick 
to  the  nearest  tree  and  strode  down  the  trail  a 
hundred  feet  to  where  the  carpenters  had 
camped.  His  colloquy  with  Ole  Hansen  was 
brief  and  apparently  unsatisfactory.  As  he 
came  up  the  trail  again,  Burnham  crossed  the 
bridge.     Goss  joined  him. 

"Jack,  what  does  that  mean?"  he  demanded. 
"I  thought  you  were  looking  after  this  cabin 
business  for  her?" 

"I  was — I  am — I  know  it."  Burnham  knew 
exactly  what  Goss's  accusing  forefinger  meant. 
It  pointed  to  the  tall  Douglas  fir,  six  feet  in 
diameter,  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high,  tower- 
ing into  the  blue  sky. 

"Are  you  crazy — or  is  she?" 

"I  urged  having  it  cut — said  everything  I 
could.  She  would  n't  listen.  Wants  it  for  a 
flag  pole." 

[148] 


The  Douglas  Fir 


"It  must  come  down." 

"Well,  you  see  her  then.  Perhaps  she  will 
listen  to  you." 

"Interview  Jane!"  Burnham's  eyes  twinkled 
at  the  tone.  Evidently  his  companion  had  not 
yet  seen  her.  "I  will — for  that  tree  is  to  come 
down." 

Goss  walked  straight  from  the  bridge  to  the 
door  of  the  cabin.  Jane,  in  her  short  skirt,  was 
starting  a  fire  in  the  cook  stove.  Goss  tapped  at 
the  door. 

"You  are  Miss  Myers?" 

"I  am."  Standing  in  the  back  of  the  cabin, 
with  stove  lid  in  hand,  Jane  saw  merely  a  square- 
shouldered  man  at  her  door.  She  presumed  it 
was  Goss.  But  she  had  no  wish  to  meet  him  and 
stayed  where  she  was. 

"Miss  Myers,  this  tree  will  have  to  come 
down." 

"What  tree?" 

"This  fir  near  your  cabin." 

"May  I  ask  why?" 

"I  don't  consider  it  safe." 

"You  are  Mr.  Goss?" 

"I  am." 

C  149] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"May  I  ask  if  your  authority  extends  to  cut- 
ting down  any  trees  you  may  wish?" 

"In  the  forest  I  cut  down  any  trees  I  consider 
dangerous." 

"But  this  is  my  homestead." 

"I  am  sorry.  The  tree  will  have  to  come 
down." 

"Impossible."  Jane's  voice  was  firm  enough. 
"I  will  not  allow  it  to  be  cut  down.  It  must 
remain  where  it  is." 

"Why?" 

"Because  it's  beautiful — and  it  would  be  a 
protection  in  a  storm." 

"A  deadly  danger  in  a  storm." 

"It  looks  sound." 

"It  is  sound.  But  it  would  blow  over.  You 
understand  that  all  coniferous  trees  are  very 
shallow  rooted.  This  tree  is  peculiarly  exposed 
because  its  immediate  fellows  are  down.  A 
high  wind  is  likely  to  send  that  crashing  into 
your  cabin  any  day." 

Jane  had  been  gradually  walking  nearer  the 
door,  stove  lid  still  in  hand,  while  the  fire  in  the 
cook  stove  flickered  and  blazed.  Absent-mind- 
edly she  set  the  lid  down  on  the  floor  near  the 

[150] 


The  Douglas  Fir 


door  and  stepped  out  to  look  at  the  tree  in  dis- 
pute. 

"There  are  dangers  everywhere,"  she  said 
with  great  dignity,  still  looking  at  the  tree. 
Then,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  humor,  she  added, 
"That  tree  is  no  more  likely  to  fall  down  on  my 
cabin  than  a  cougar  is  to  rip  off  my  roof  and 
drop  in  on  me  when  I  'm  not  expecting  any  one 
to  call." 

"Well,  that  might  happen,  too." 

Goss  turned  to  Burnham. 

"Jack,  send  those  carpenters  over  here  and 
tell  them  to  cut  this  tree  down." 

Jane  blazed.  "You  are  impertinent,  sir. 
This  is  my  homestead  and  my  cabin  and  my  tree, 
and  I  will  not  have  that  tree  cut  down!" 

She  turned  toward  him  for  the  first  time. 
Goss  squared  his  shoulders  and  walked  over  to 
where  the  angry  girl  stood.  Drawing  himself 
to  his  full  height,  he  looked  down  into  her  face. 
It  was  actually  the  first  time  either  of  them  had 
really  looked  at  the  other,  and  in  each  mind 
there  was  a  distinct  sense  of  surprise.  "Goss  is 
a  king  among  men,"  Burnham  had  said,  and 
Jane  was  suddenly  conscious  of  his  height,  the 

[151] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

breadth  of  his  shoulders,  the  flush  of  health  un- 
der the  tan  of  the  bronze  face,  but  above  all  of 
a  very  commanding  personality  and  a  pair  of 
keen  gray  eyes.  Her  own  faltered  under  his 
steady  gaze.  He  seemed  to  be  looking  right 
through  her,  searching  her  thoughts,  and  she 
suddenly  felt  like  a  three-year-old  child.  He, 
on  his  part,  was  suddenly  aware  of  a  trim  figure, 
looking  very  slender  and  childish  in  the  short 
skirt,  a  rather  plain  but  pleasant  face,  crowned 
with  wavy  brown  hair,  and  a  pair  of  violet  eyes 
where  brown  ones  ought  to  be. 

"I  '11  thrash  Burnham,"  was  his  mental  reso- 
lution, though  it  seemed  to  have  no  bearing 
whatever  upon  the  tree  question.  Then  he 
spoke,  very  kindly,  but  very  firmly: 

"Miss  Myers,  I  am  sorry.  I  understand  your 
feeling  for  I  love  trees  myself,  but  it  must  come 
down.  It  is  too  dangerous — far  too  danger- 
ous." 

It  was  the  voice  of  authority,  and  there  was 
no  gainsaying  him.  The  carpenters  had  come 
with  their  axes  and  saws,  followed  by  Burnham 
who  had  taken  in  the  whole  situation.  Jane 
turned    and   went   into   her   cabin.     Burnham, 

[152] 


The  Douglas  Fir 


with  the  freedom  of  an  old  friend,  followed 
her.  He  did  not  mean  to  startle  her,  but  he 
would  have  sworn  when  she  turned  suddenly  at 
his  step  that  she  wiped  her  eyes. 

"Miss  Myers,  Mrs.  Patton  wants  you  to  take 
dinner  with  us  over  there  to-night." 

"I  am  sorry,  but  I  cannot." 

"Miss  Myers,"  he  came  over  to  her  by  the 
cook  stove,  "please  do.  Goss  will  be  a  good 
friend  to  you,  even  if  he  does  seem  unreasonable 
now.  And  he  is  really  right  about  the  tree. 
Besides,  you  can't  refuse  the  Widdy  without  of- 
fending her,  can  you?  And  she  is  a  pretty  close 
neighbor,  you  know,  in  a  place  where  neighbors 
are  few." 

"\    s,  that  is  true." 

"Then  I  will  tell  her  you  will  come." 

"Yes,  I  '11  come." 

"I  '11  come  over  for  you." 

He  stepped  outside  the  cabin  again.  Goss 
had  given  directions  as  to  where  the  tree  was 
to  fall  and  the  chips  were  flying  as  the  men  plied 
their  axes. 

"Hold  up,  Ole."  Burnham,  in  a  spirit  of 
mischief,  picked  up  Jane's  camera  which  lay  just 

[153] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

inside  the  door.  "I  want  a  snap  shot."  The 
men  stopped  and  faced  him  for  a  moment;  then 
as  he  turned  the  roll,  the  chips  began  to  fly 
again.  Burnham  quietly  set  the  camera  in  a 
safe  place  outside  the  door  and  sauntered  over 
the  bridge. 

"I  invited  Miss  Myers  to  take  dinner  with  us 
to-night — I  will  pay  for  it,  of  course, — and  you 
will  need  to  put  another  place  on  for  her,"  he 
added  as  his  eye  scanned  the  table.  "Mr.  Goss 
also  wants  her  here  for  dinner,"  and  having  thus 
diplomatically  arranged  things  to  suit  himself, 
he  sauntered  over  to  Jane's  cabin  again. 

"Poor  girl,"  he  meditated,  as  he  watched  the 
men  drop  their  axes  and  pick  up  the  long  saw, 
"I  '11  bet  she 's  madder  than  hops.  Th(  first 
scrap  on  earth  between  the  first  man  and  woman 
was  over  an  apple  tree.  Suppose  it  had  been  a 
Douglas  fir!" 

When  the  saw  became  bound,  wedges  were 
slipped  in  to  release  it,  and  then  back  and  for- 
ward it  wove  its  way  through  the  heart  of  the 
tree  until,  at  a  signal  from  Goss,  they  sprang 
back  and  with  a  crash  which  echoed  through  the 

[154] 


The  Douglas  Fir 


forest  the  Douglas  fir  stretched  its  long  length 
on  the  ground  beside  the  trail. 

The  clang  of  a  tin  pan  came  across  the  ripple 
of  the  water.  Dinner — or  supper,  as  they 
called  it, — was  ready.  Burnham  approached 
Goss.  "Miss  Myers  will  take  dinner  with  us 
to-night,"  he  said.  "The  Widdy  has  invited 
her." 

The  air  was  soft  and  warm,  and  a  bright  light 
shone  cheerfully  from  the  cabin  across  the  way, 
but  Goss  unconsciously  pulled  up  his  coat  col- 
lar. Why  in  the  world,  of  all  nights,  should 
the  Widdy  have  invited  Miss  Myers  to  take  din- 
ner with  her  on  this  particular  one?  She  would 
be  angry,  of  course,  at  the  fall  of  the  tree.  Goss 
rather  dreaded  that  dinner  table. 

It  was  full  ten  o'clock  that  night  before  Goss 
and  Burnham  crept  under  their  blankets,  out  in 
the  open  air,  with  a  camp  fire  at  their  feet. 

Since  they  had  left  the  cabin  Goss  was  no 
more  silent  than  usual,  but  he  was  silent  "in  a 
different  tone  of  voice,"  as  Burnham  would  have 
expressed  it. 

Eerie  shadows  flickered  in  the  dancing  light 

[155] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

of  the  camp  fire.  Both  lay  watching  the  dan- 
cing gleams,  making  the  ghostly  trees  advance 
or  retreat  as  a  sudden  blaze  lighted  up  the  som- 
ber trunks  and  the  dark  canopy  so  far  over- 
head. 

"What's  the  joke?"  asked  Goss,  raising  him- 
self on  his  elbow  as  he  heard  for  the  tenth  time 
Burnham's  familiar  chuckle.  Burnham  chuc- 
kled again. 

"Did  any  man  ever  predict  accurately  what 
a  woman  's  going  to  do?" 

"No;  and  never  will." 

With  mutual  impulse  both  men  broke  into  a 
peal  of  laughter. 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  to  lord 
it  over  a  helpless  girl  like  that,"  said  Burnham 
finally. 

"Ashamed!  Ashamed!  You  use  that  word 
to  me,  you  imp,  after  deceiving  me  so  about  her." 

"Never,  never!"  declared  Burnham.  "You 
just  made  up  your  mind  from  the  start  what  she 
looked  like — because  her  name  was  Jane — and 
I  let  you  fool  yourself." 

"Jack,  if  you  ever  play  such  a  game  on  me 
again — " 

[156] 


The  Douglas  Fir 


"I  am  innocent.  It  was  all  your  own  fault." 
He  laughed  as  he  remembered  Goss's  face  dur- 
ing that  evening. 

"It  was  high-handed,  I  admit,  and  I  admired 
her  spunk — but  that  tree  had  to  come  down." 

Again  there  was  silence.  One  moment  the 
forest  was  black,  the  next,  the  trees,  vague,  huge, 
dreadful,  reflected  the  gleam  of  the  fire. 
Around  them  was  the  ripple  of  the  water  and 
the  strange  night  noises  of  the  forest. 

Burnham  heard  Goss  chuckle. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  in  his  turn. 

"Jack,  I  understood  perfectly  to-night  why 
you  ate  the  holes  in  those  doughnuts." 

Again  a  peal  of  laughter  startled  the  swaying 
shadows. 

"Well,  now—" 

"I  learned  the  full  extent  of  your  perfidy 
when  I  offered  to  pay  the  Widdy  for  the 
borrowed  grub.  I  '11  thrash  you  well,  next 
time." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"She  's  game,  all  right,"  said  Jack. 

"She  is,"  answered  Goss  briefly. 

For  Goss  had  been  even  more  surprised  than 

[157] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Burnham  over  Jane's  method  of  taking  his  high- 
handedness. He  had  been  in  the  right  and  he 
knew  it.  Manlike,  he  respected  her  for  yield- 
ing the  point,  "especially  when  she  could  n't 
help  herself,"  he  added.  His  logic,  in  true 
man-fashion,  was  not  very  clear  when  applied 
to  women.  He  did  not  understand  that  she, 
womanlike,  recognizing  that  he  was  in  the  right, 
respected  him  the  more  for  his  firmness.  He 
probably  never  would  know  that  his  real  con- 
quest had  come,  not  through  his  firmness  or  his 
determination,  but  through  the  kindness  of 
the  steady  gray  eyes.  Had  he  won  his  point 
through  harshness,  she  would  have  hated  him. 
But  a  really  strong  man  never  needs  to  use  harsh 
methods — with  women,  or  men  either. 

So  it  was  a  surprise  that  Jane  had  come  into 
supper  that  evening,  not  in  her  short  khaki 
skirt,  but  in  a  long,  graceful  gown  of  some  sort 
— he  could  n't  remember  what  it  was,  only  there 
was  a  touch  of  violet  on  it  which  just  matched 
her  eyes.  And  she  had  brought  her  mandolin 
with  her,  and  had  sung  some  old  Scotch  songs 
to  them,  and  they  had  all  sung  together  some  old 
college  songs.     And  Goss,  as  he  watched  her, 

[158] 


The  Douglas  Fir 


had  had  an  odd  sense  of  surprise  every  time  he 
saw  those  violet  eyes — and  above  all  a  sense  of 
amazement  that  such  a  girl  as  this  could  be 
named  Jane. 

So  in  the  quiet  of  the  forest  they  dropped 
asleep,  Burnham  to  dream  of  falling  stars  with 
violet  eyes  that  turned  into  Douglas  firs  which 
the  carpenters  persisted  in  hacking.  Once  a  far- 
off  crash  in  the  forest  aroused  him  enough  to 
replenish  the  camp  fire.  But  Goss  slept  the  un- 
broken, dreamless  sleep  of  the  just. 


[159] 


CHAPTER  X 

IMPROVEMENTS 

IT  any  one  had  ever  told  Jane  Myers  that  she 
A  would  join  the  ranks  of  people  who  con- 
stantly talk  out  loud  to  themselves,  she  would, 
in  those  days  so  long  past,  have  hooted  at  the 
idea.  It  was  with  something  of  a  shock  that 
she  found  herself  continually  arguing  with  that 
Other  Self,  counseling  with  it,  talking  to  it, 
after  a  month  in  her  homestead,  as  though  that 
Other  Self  were  something  quite  distinct  from 
her  own  self.  Somewhere,  back  in  civilization, 
she  had  heard  that  it  was  a  sign  of  incipient  in- 
sanity. But  after  thinking  it  over,  she  decided 
that  the  practice  was  really  a  sociable  one,  and 
that  if  she  were  only  that  much  insane  no  one 
would  find  it  out.  "But  if  the  Widdy  catches 
me  doing  it,  she  '11  have  a  'hunch,'  or  take  it  as 
a  sign,  or  something,"  she  told  herself  and  her 
mental  vision  saw  the  Widdy's  hand  go  for  the 
salt  box,  the  sure  preventative  against  all  evil. 

[160] 


Such  streams  as  these  vanish  when  the 
forests  burn 


Improvements 


It  was  a  glorious  morning  in  early  October, 
with  the  sun  streaming  down  upon  the  creek 
which  swirled  and  rippled  along  in  quite  a 
friendly  fashion.  The  water  was  low,  the 
Widdy  had  told  her.  Also  that  there  were 
plenty  of  fish  in  the  pond  above.  Jane  had  in- 
cluded a  fish  rod  among  her  forest  belongings. 

But  that  morning,  as  she  dipped  a  bucket  of 
water  from  the  creek,  she  decided  to  put  on  her 
gymnasium  suit  and  begin  grubbing  up  the 
bushes  around  the  cabin.  "A  skirt  is  out  of  the 
question  for  that  sort  of  work,"  she  told  herself 
impatiently.  Improvements  were  required  by 
law  as  well  as  safety,  and  Jane  felt  she  might 
as  well  begin.  It  was  too  glorious  to  stay  in- 
doors. 

She  felt,  as  she  came  out  of  the  door  with  her 
hatchet  in  her  hand,  that  she  was  in  the  heart  of 
romance.  She  could  hear  in  the  quiet  the  voice 
of  the  falls,  some  five  or  six  hundred  feet  be- 
low, and  the  rush  of  the  rapids  above.  Be- 
ginning at  her  very  door  was  the  long  trail  of 
the  cathedral  forest,  and  the  morning  air  was 
fragrant  with  the  faint  forest  spiciness.  All 
around  her  was  the  immensity,  the  vastness,  of 

[161] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

unexplored  space,  the  mystery  of  the  "hills  of 
silence."  There  was  a  broad,  shimmering  light 
on  the  water  of  the  creek  now,  revealing  its  rest- 
lessness and  activity,  calling  her  attention  to  it 
again  and  again  from  the  mystery  of  the  forest, 
but  it  was  a  very  different  place  at  night.  With 
the  glimmer  of  moonlight  upon  the  white  foam, 
with  the  broad  patches  of  frosty  white  contrast- 
ing with  the  pitch  blackness  of  the  shadows,  it 
was  a  spot  where  Oberon  and  Queen  Mab  might 
play,  and  where  Puck  surely  came.  Perhaps 
if  she  cleared  the  path  to  the  creek  she  could  see 
them. 

"I  wonder  what  all  these  things  are,  anyway," 
Jane  looked  about  her  as  she  spoke  at  the  serv- 
ice berry  bushes,  salal,  Oregon  grape,  sword 
fern,  wild  syringa,  the  great  fern  brakes  almost 
as  tall  as  she,  the  troublesome  devil's  club,  and 
the  nameless  growth  of  the  deep  entangled 
forest.  The  trail  to  the  water  had  broken  down 
the  frailer  ones  but  the  others  remained  as 
sturdy  as  ever.  A  great  tree  had  once  fallen 
across  what  was  now  that  path,  though  the  car- 
penters had  cut  it  in  two  and  pulled  the  lighter 
end  away.     But  all  around  lay  the  decaying 

[162] 


Improvements 


trunks  of  fallen  trees,  some  apparently  still 
sound,  with  sharp,  spiney  ends  which  caught  in 
her  clothing  whenever  she  passed. 

"It  will  take  me  five  years  to  clear  half  an 
acre  of  this,"  she  argued  as  she  looked  about  her 
for  a  good  place  to  begin.  "But  I  am  going  to 
get  some  trails  through." 

Salal  bushes  went  down  under  the  vigorous 
strokes  of  the  hatchet,  and  so  did  the  clusters  of 
Oregon  grape.  The  crimson  leaves  she  laid  to 
one  side  for  cabin  decoration.  Foot  by  foot  in 
the  cool  October  air  the  girl  toiled,  with  the 
singing  of  the  creek  always  in  her  ears. 

"But  it  is  positively  wicked  to  cut  down  a  bush 
like  that,"  Jane  insisted,  as  she  came  to  the  ever- 
green huckleberry  whose  dainty,  glossy  leaves 
had  turned  to  a  red  bronze  in  the  autumn  nights. 
"Positively  wicked."  The  shrub  stood  four  feet 
high,  its  reddish  leaves  gleaming  in  the  sunlight. 
"I  shall  regard  the  presence  of  that  huckle- 
berry bush  as  an  improvement." 

Jane  glanced  over  at  the  line  of  smoke  rising 
from  the  Widdy's  cabin.  "I  wish  she  were 
more  sociable.  Wish  she  were  a  girl  and  would 
come  out  and  play  with  me."     The  slight  figure 

[163] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

of  the  Widdy  passing  and  repassing  her  cabin 
door  was  the  only  answer.  "Wish  the  stream 
were  not  between  us;  then  we  could  call  back 
and  forth  to  each  other.  But  we  can't  do  that 
over  the  music  of  the  water."  She  grubbed  for 
an  hour  more,  then  decided  a  change  of  work 
would  be  a  rest. 

"Jane,  our  next  endeavor  will  be  to  cut  some 
kindling  wood.  We  have  a  good  deal  to  cut 
before  winter  sets  in."  She  glanced  at  the  pile 
of  odds  and  ends  thrown  together  by  the  carpen- 
ters on  top  of  some  cord  wood  which  they  had 
split.  "You  have  to  provide  three-foot  wood 
for  your  fireplace  and  smaller  bits  for  the  cook 
stove." 

When  Burnham  had  suggested  that  a  man 
should  come  out  and  cut  her  winter's  supply  of 
wood,  Jane  had  demurred.  "I  am  sure  I  can  do 
it,"  she  had  insisted  with  all  the  certainty  of  a 
tenderfoot.     "I  want  the  exercise,  you  know." 

Burnham's  face  had  at  first  been  blank,  then 
amused.  "Do  it  at  once,  then,"  he  had  said  with 
decision, — "do  it  at  once."  And  afterwards 
added.     "Let  me  know  when  you  want  a  man." 

At  noon  Jane  went  in  to  cook  her  luncheon. 
[164] 


Improvements 


The  fireless  cooker  had  proved  to  be  a  joke. 
She  had  bought  it  thinking  it  would  be  a  con- 
venient way  of  doing  her  cooking  when  she 
wanted  to  be  out  of  doors  all  day,  in  the  sun- 
shine. But  the  sight  of  it  soon  palled  upon  her. 
There  was  nothing  homelike,  nothing  sympa- 
thetic, about  it.  No  chance  to  stir  the  fire,  no 
fragrance  of  burning  wood,  no  gleam  of  a  blaze 
through  the  lid,  no  watching  the  steaming  pot 
while  wondering  if  the  vegetables  were  almost 
done,  no  dripping  the  gravy  over  a  roast,  none 
of  the  familiar  fragrance  of  the  cooking  dinner. 
It  was  like  taking  her  dinner  out  of  a  blank- 
looking  tool  chest. 

So  the  fireless  cooker,  ignored  and  humiliated, 
stood  at  one  side  of  the  cabin,  covered  with  a 
piece  of  green  burlap,  and  used  as  a  window 
seat.  It  was  an  ignominious  end  to  a  praise- 
worthy invention. 

After  luncheon  Jane  began  at  the  wood  pile. 
The  way  to  do  a  thing,  she  always  argued,  was 
simply  to  do  it.  So  now  the  way  to  develop 
muscle  sufficient  to  cut  down  a  tree  was  to  be- 
gin on  the  wood  pile. 

The  ax  was  sharp  and  of  ordinary  weight. 
[165] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Any  one  could  cut  wood  with  that.  Such  work 
was  mere  play  and  muscle  was  to  be  developed 
by  the  pound. 

After  an  hour's  play  with  the  ax,  Jane  de- 
cided it  must  be  almost  dinner  time,  even  though 
the  sun  was  so  high  in  the  heavens.  But  the 
wood  pile!  How  strange!  If  there  had  been 
any  one  near  her,  Jane  would  have  felt  certain 
that  they  had  played  a  joke  on  her  by  carrying 
off  her  wood  as  she  cut  it.  To  have  worked  the 
entire  afternoon  with  only  those  few  pieces  of 
wood  to  show  for  it!  Still,  you  never  could  tell. 
Wood  was  so  deceptive  because  it  always  lay 
crosswise,  piled  up  helter-skelter,  piece  tilted 
over  piece  like  a  pile  of  overturned  jackstraws. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  pile  the  wood  and 
then  cut  more.  Change  of  work  was  recrea- 
tion. 

It  took  a  surprisingly  short  time  to  pile  that 
wood  neatly  in  the  corner  at  the  side  of  the  big 
fireplace.  She  had  wanted  to  have  the  wood 
pile  entirely  out  of  doors  but  Burnham  had 
warned  her  that  sometimes  the  snows  were  deep. 
He  had  not  the  courage  to  tell  her,  so  soon,  how 
deep  they  sometimes  were.     So  in  the  square  set 

[166] 


Improvements 


aside  for  the  wood  pile,  she  laid  her  newly  cut 
wood.     But  there  was  so  little  of  it! 

She  glanced  at  the  clock.  Just  a  little  after 
three !  And  her  hands !  She  had  put  on  gloves 
for  chopping  but  found  it  was  a  little  dangerous 
because  she  could  not  control  the  ax.  She  had 
forgotten  to  put  them  on  to  carry  in  the  wood 
and  now  her  hands  were  full  of  splinters. 

She  would  get  accustomed  to  it,  of  course. 
These  things  all  came  by  practice.  She  set 
aside  the  ax  and  picked  up  a  small  hatchet 
with  which  to  cut  some  of  the  small  dry  branches 
which  covered  the  ground.  The  new  wood  was 
too  green  to  burn  well.  The  rest  of  the  after- 
noon she  hacked  at  dry  branches. 

Next  morning  Jane  slept  late.  Even  when 
she  did  awaken,  she  felt  a  strange  reluctance  to 
getting  up.  She  decided  when  dressing  that  it 
would  be  better  to  omit  wood  chopping  that  day. 
There  was  a  slight  attempt  at  trail  clearing,  but 
by  noon  she  had  given  it  up.  That  afternoon, 
warm  in  the  sunlight,  she  sat  by  the  side  of  the 
creek,  reading  a  novel. 

It  was  just  before  her  evening  dinner  that  she 
heard    far   down   the   trail,    Burnham's   yodel, 

[167] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"He-e-e-e-igh  ho-o-o-o!"  With  a  quick  jump, 
she  revived  the  kitchen  fire.  An  additional  log 
went  into  the  embers  of  the  fireplace.  Lack  of 
hospitality  in  the  woods  was  not  easily  forgiven. 
She  felt  sure  he  would  get  his  supper  at  the 
Widdy's  but  she  would  give  him  a  welcome. 

Burnham  sprang  off  his  horse  with  a  cordial 
greeting. 

"How  are  things  going?     All  right?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  I  did  some  clearing  yesterday 
— see  how  much  I  did!  And  then  I  chopped 
some  wood — all  that  in  the  corner.  I  had  lots 
of  fun!" 

"But  the  fun  was  all  yesterday/"  His  jolly 
laugh  rang  out  cheerily. 

"Ye-es.     But  I  am  learning  how." 

"I  am  going  back  to  Illahee  Monday.  Shall 
I  send  out  a  man?" 

"Perhaps — you  might.  It  is  so  near  winter — 
yes,  I  think  it  would  be  better.  Of  course,  if 
I  had  come  earlier  or  had  begun  earlier,  I  could 
do  it  all  myself." 

"Of  course,"  he  assented  gravely. 

"See  what  I  Ve  brought  you,"  he  added, 
motioning  toward  a  Boston  terrier  which  had 

[168] 


Improvements 


been  sniffing  around  Jane.  "Salt  will  be  good 
company  for  you,  I  think."  He  avoided  any 
further  mention  of  danger. 

"Sake* 

"His  master  called  him  that  because  he  looked 
so  much  like  pepper.     Can  you  whistle?" 

A  whistle,  clear  but  somewhat  uncertain,  was 
his  answer. 

"You  can  learn  that,  too;  and  it  won't  stiffen 
you  up  like  chopping  wood.  I  must  go  over 
to  the  Widdy's.  I  '11  leave  Bob  here  if  you  will 
let  me.  He  does  n't  like  that  stream  any  too 
well.  I  hope  she  '11  have  some  doughnuts,"  he 
added  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

Jane  turned  her  attention  to  the  new  dog. 

An  hour  later  Jack  Burnham  mounted  Bob 
again,  after  a  moment's  chat  in  the  dusk.  "I 
think  you  can  expect  a  man  Tuesday,"  was  his 
last  word.  "The  Widdy  wants  some  wood  cut, 
too." 

But  there  were  days  and  days  that  glorious 
October  when  Jane  with  her  hatchet  hacked  and 
chopped  at  the  bushes  and  grubbed  for  the  en- 
tangling vines  which  sprang  from  nowhere, 
and  picked  up  chips  for  her  fires,  or  stacked 

[169] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

together  the  dead  branches  of  trees,  and  chopped 
off  the  projecting  ends  of  fallen  trees  until  she 
had  cleared  a  patch,  broad  though  bumpy,  be- 
tween the  cabin  and  the  creek.  The  man  whom 
Burnham  sent  out  had  made  cord  wood  of  the 
old  tree  which  had  lain  across  that  trail. 

Then  she  turned  her  attention  to  a  trail  from 
the  cabin  up  the  creek  toward  the  pond,  which 
was  really  a  momentary  broadening  out  of  the 
mountain  stream,  and  which  lay  just  beyond  the 
boundaries  of  her  claim.  She  was  well  over  her 
stiffness  now,  and  the  open-air  exercise  had  not 
only  developed  some  of  the  longed-for  "muscle" 
but  had  brought  a  glow  of  color  into  her  face 
which  had  been  unknown  to  Jane  the  school 
teacher.  The  dead  branches  of  the  fallen  trees, 
brittle  and  dry,  gave  her  a  good  fire,  and  would 
serve  well  until  the  greener  wood,  recently  cut, 
could  dry  somewhat.  But  it  could  not  all  be 
used  and  in  a  perfectly  safe  place,  near  the  edge 
of  the  creek,  she  used  to  burn  her  brush  in  the 
most  approved  way.  Goss  had  happened  along 
one  day  when  she  had  started  such  a  blaze  and 
in  friendly  fashion  he  had  given  her  the  nec- 
essary warning  as  well  as  instruction  regard- 

[  170] 


Improvements 


ing  its  management.  He  was  friendly,  in  his 
quiet  way,  but  he  did  not  join  her  in  the  easy 
fashion  which  made  Burnham  such  good  com- 
pany. 

The  presence  of  the  dog,  too,  made  a  differ- 
ence. He  was  always  at  her  heels  wherever  she 
went,  and  grew  to  be  an  actual  companion. 
And  with  the  sense  of  responsibility  for  him — 
even  to  pulling  out  porcupine  quills,  as  she  had 
to  one  day, — the  sense  of  blank  loneliness  had 
disappeared.  A  womanly  woman  has  to  have 
something  for  which  she  feels  responsible  else 
existence  becomes  gray.  And  Salt  was  a  jolly 
companion.  He  chased  the  squirrels  and  when 
they  barked  at  him,  outraged  and  defiant,  from 
the  rough  red  bark  of  the  firs,  just  above  his 
wildest  jump,  he  barked  back  until  the  forest 
echoed  to  the  quarrel. 

Hacking  away  one  day  at  the  brush  on  the  trail 
to  the  lake,  Salt,  sitting  on  his  haunches  beside 
her  gave  a  deep  growl.  Jane  glanced  up. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  Salt  rose, 
growled  more  deeply,  and  showed  his  teeth. 
Man  or  animal,  something  was  near.  Jane 
slipped  the  leash  around  the  dog's  collar  and 

[171] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

rose  to  her  full  height.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  seen  in  the  silent  morning, — only  the  sunshine 
playing  on  the  red,  seamy  bark  of  the  firs,  and 
the  ferns  swaying  slightly  in  the  never-resting 
breeze.  But  the  slight  breeze,  she  realized  with 
a  start,  did  not  account  for  the  sudden  swaying 
of  bushes  some  fifty  feet  away.  Tense,  Jane 
watched  them  closely.  Again  a  sudden  swaying 
as  though  some  heavy  body  had  moved  through 
them,  or  settled  down  among  them.  Salt 
growled  again.  Was  it  a  bear?  They  were 
more  likely  to  be  in  the  huckleberry  patches.  A 
cougar?  Or — or — a  sudden  picture  came  to  her 
mind  of  the  figure  watching  her  from  the  spruce 
trees  in  the  old  burn.  Could  it  be  the  squatter? 
Salt  began  to  bark. 

Jane  felt  for  her  revolver.  "If  it 's  that  man, 
I  am  going  to  find  out  what  he  wants.  I  won't 
be  watched  in  this  way.     Come,  Salt." 

They  advanced  slowly  some  twenty  feet  to- 
ward the  clump  of  ferns  and  bushes.  The 
agitated  waving  of  the  green  brush  was  never 
occasioned  by  any  breeze.  Salt  was  barking 
loudly  and  Jane's  finger  was  on  the  trigger.     A 

[  172] 


Improvements 


still  more  violent  shaking  of  the  bushes  and  a 
tattered  figure  rose  before  her. 

"Who  are  you  and  what  do  you  want?"  de- 
manded Jane,  feeling  her  knees  shaking  and  con- 
scious of  a  vague  wonder  in  the  back  of  her  mind 
as  to  whether  she  would  dare  shoot  a  human  be- 
ing. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?     Be  quiet,  Salt." 

Still  no  answer. 

"Who  are  you?  Do  you  live  in  that  tree 
stump  down  there?"  The  revolver  waved  to- 
ward the  south. 

"Yes."     The  answer  came  slowly. 

"What  do  you  want  here?"  Jane  looked  as 
bravely  as  she  could  at  the  human  scarecrow. 

"I  want  you  to  understand,"  she  went  on  as 
silence  was  her  only  response,  "that  this  is  my 
claim  and  that  you  have  no  business  whatever  on 
my  homestead.     You  must  keep  off  of  it." 

She  was  somewhat  emboldened  by  his  ap- 
parent fear. 

"That's  painters  in  thet  thar  ravine,"  he 
mumbled.     "Yer  better  watch  out." 

[  173] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"Painters — cougars?     In  what  ravine?" 

A  dirty  hand  protruding  from  a  tattered 
sleeve  pointed  toward  the  other  corner  of  her 
claim. 

"Are  there  cougars  on  my  claim  ?"  She  was 
trying  to  see  the  squatter's  face.  Wild  eyes,  a 
dense  bushy  beard  in  a  face  browned  by  the  sun, 
the  whole  appearance  caricatured  by  the  tattered 
clothing  and  crownless  hat,  she  could  make  out 
nothing  except  that  he  was  rather  a  fearsome- 
looking  creature.  He  was  evidently  a  fugitive. 
His  furtive,  watchful  air,  his  neglected  appear- 
ance, all  gave  evidence  to  that.  But  her  com- 
mon sense  told  her  that  any  man  as  dirty  and 
neglected  and  in  similar  clothes  would  look 
about  as  disreputable.  She  could  n't  tell  in  the 
least  whether  he  looked  like  a  criminal  or  not. 

"Have  you  seen  the  cougars?"  But  the 
squatter  was  moving  off,  with  Salt  straining  at 
his  leash  to  get  at  him.  Jane  watched  him  go 
with  a  sense  of  relief  as  he  shambled  through 
the  underbrush  and  vanished  amidst  the  trees. 
A  big  fir  seemed  to  blot  him  out.  She  watched 
for  his  further  movements,  but  there  were  none. 

"Stopping  behind  that  fir,  I  guess.  He's 
[174] 


Improvements 


horrible  looking  but  I  am  glad  I  had  the 
courage  to  face  him.     I  wish  he  would  go  on." 

She  turned  back  to  her  cabin  and  crossed  the 
bridge  to  the  Widdy's.  Mrs.  Patton  was  sew- 
ing on  a  patchwork  quilt. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  the  man?"  she 
asked  as  she  finished  telling  of  her  encounter. 
"Has  he  ever  come  around  here  before?" 

"Not  sence  I  ben  here.  But  he  's  no  harm. 
He 's  too  afeard,"  was  the  Widdy's  answer. 


[175] 


CHAPTER  XI 

"brookside" 

Letter  from  Hope  Denham  to  Jane  Myers. 
Dear  Jane: 

I  am  glad  I  'm  not  up  in  those  dense  forests! 
Goodness!  And  with  a  forest  fire  possible 
eight  months  in  the  year!  No,  thank  you. 
And  it  must  be  awfully  lonely  in  there  under  all 
those  great  trees  with  the  "dim  forest  gloom" 
that  poets  are  so  fond  of  talking  about. 

I  have  been  having  some  experiences  here, 
too.  This  is  the  last  day  of  October  and  this 
past  month  has  been  ages  long.  There  was  a 
girl  named  Winters  who  came  out  here  to  visit 
Miss  Woods — you  remember  I  told  you  Miss 
Woods  had  the  claim  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  me.  They  used  to  teach  in  the  same 
school.  Miss  Woods  is  awfully  nice — about 
thirty,  I  guess.  Well,  this  Miss  Winters  came 
out  here  because  of  nervous  exhaustion,  but, 
dear  me,  Jane,  if  she  were  to  exhaust  all  her 

[176] 


Brookside 


nerve,  she  would  be  so  shrunk  there  would  n't 
be  anything  left. 

Jack  Strong  comes  over  to  see  me — you  met 
him,  didn't  you? — and  sometimes  he  goes  to 
see  Miss  Woods.  It 's  attentions  without  in- 
tentions, you  know,  because  we  neighbors  have 
to  be  friendly  out  here  on  these  great  plains. 
Well,  anyway,  she  found  out  he  came  here  rather 
often  because  he 's  a  special  friend  of  Uncle 
Mart's, — oh,  yes,  I  have  named  my  claim 
"Brookside";  isn't  that  pretty? — and  promptly 
this  awful  Miss  Winters  set  her  cap  for  him. 
I'm  not  jealous — you  understand  that!  Be- 
cause we  're  just  good  friends,  but  he  is  good- 
looking  you  know,  big  and  strong  and  broad- 
shouldered,  and — and  dependable,  you  know. 
He  makes  me  think  of  the  Virginian,  and  I  guess 
that 's  why  I  like  him  so  much.  So  she  began 
to  come  over  here  Sunday  evenings  when  she 
knew  he  was  here — so  busy  keeping  house  dur- 
ing the  week.  And  then  one  night  she  an- 
nounced she  could  sing.  Of  course  we  asked 
her  to,  because  you  have  to  be  polite,  even  if  you 
are  homesteading.  Then  she  wanted  me  to  ac- 
company her  on  my  mandolin.     She  plays  the 

[  177] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

guitar,  and  she  really  does  have  a  good  voice 
and  a  repertoire  of  clever  pieces,  and  Jack — that 
is,  Mr.  Strong — Uncle  Mart  always  says  Jack 
— liked  it  very  much.  That  was  her  cue.  She 
just  sang  at  all  times  and  places.  She  came  over 
twice  a  week  to  "practice"  with  me — in  spite  of 
that  heavy  housekeeping  for  two.  And  one  day, 
when  we  were  all  out  horseback  riding — we  four 
with  Uncle  Mart  went  on  a  picnic  to  a  pretty 
spot  twenty  miles  away  just  at  the  beginning  of 
the  foothills, — and,  oh,  Jane,  it  was  the  most 
glorious  day!  It  had  rained  a  little  the  nighc 
before  and  with  the  light  breeze  from  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  freshness  of  the  air,  the  glorious 
October  sunshine  and  magnificent  blue  sky 
above  us,  and,  those  boundless,  endless,  limit- 
less plains  behind  us, — it  was  just  beyond  words. 
And  we  did  have  such  a  good  time.  But  you 
know  Miss  Winters  is  very  fond  of  music — very. 
Why,  she  got  off  her  horse  in  front  of  a  barbed- 
wire  fence  and  sang  all  the  dots  on  her  veil!  I 
did  hear  once  of  a  girl  who  put  a  peek-a-boo 
waist  in  a  piano  player  and  the  thing  ground  out 
a  Beethoven  sonata.  I  almost  believe  this  Miss 
Winters  could  get  Lohengrin  out  of  a  pair  of 

[178] 


(BrooksideJ 


open-work  stockings!  Well,  anyway,  we  had  a 
perfectly  glorious  day. 

This  Miss  Winters  told  me  once,  apropos  of 
her  housekeeping  that  she  always  kneaded 
bread  with  her  gloves  on.  I  told  her  I  needed 
bread  with  my  sweater  on,  but  she  did  n't  see  the 
joke  at  all — it  was  n't  musical.  Well,  she  's 
gone  now.  Her  parting  joke  was  musical. 
Sampson  was  purring  in  front  of  the  fire  and  she 
said  the  cat  had  begun  to  boil! 

I  go  over  real  often  to  see  Miss  Woods,  and 
so  does  Jack.  He  's  sorry  for  her  because  of 
her  health — but  do  you  know,  I  believe  it's 
rather  a  relief  to  him  that  Miss  Winters 's  gone. 
It  certainly  is  to  me.  But  of  course  I  was  n't 
jealous.  She  was  just  disagreeable.  Miss 
Woods  is  awfully  lonely,  and  I  guess  Miss  Win- 
ter's visit  did  mean  a  good  deal  to  her.  This  is 
her  third  year  on  her  claim  and  her  courage 
seems  to  be  going.  They  say  that  the  last  year 
is  sometimes  the  longest  one,  but  I  can't  see  how 
that  would  be.  Mine — I  mean  my  first  one — 
was  ages  long.  Uncle  Mart  had  an  Irishman 
helping  him  a  while  this  last  summer,  and  the 
Irishman  was  much  interested  in  a  woman's  tak- 

[  179] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

ing  up  a  homestead.  He  said  the  whole  thing 
was  a  bet:  "Th'  Guvermint  is  willin'  to  bet  ye 
a  hundred  an'  sixty  acres  uv  land  agin  fourteen 
dollars  thot  ye  can't  live  on  it  foive  year  widout 
starvin'  to  death." 

There  might  be  a  little  truth  in  that  for  some 
people,  but  not  for  me.  I  '11  stick  to  this  place 
until  my  five  years  are  up.  Then,  maybe,  I  will 
visit  city  sights  again.  I  hope  Miss  Woods 
won't  give  up  her  claim.  I  'm  going  to  do 
everything  I  can  for  her — and  Uncle  Mart  does, 
too.  Oh,  yes!  That  Miss  Winters's  first  joke 
about  the  cat  was  that  the  way  to  make  a  Maltese 
cross  was  to  step  on  the  cat's  tail — just  because 
Sampson  is  part  Maltese! 

I  have  n't  had  a  letter  from  you  in  ages.  Do 
write,  because  you  can't  be  so  busy  up  there  in 
those  dense  forests  as  I  am  cultivating  my 
ground  here,  even  if  you  do  put  on  a  flannel  gym 
suit  once  in  a  while  and  pull  up  brush.  Why 
don't  you  just  wear  overalls?  I  should  think 
that  would  be  all  right  up  there, — there  are  so 
few  men  and  those  just  forest  rangers.  No- 
body you  care  anything  about.  I  should  think 
it  would   be   all    right   to   wear   overalls.     Of 

[180] 


(Brooksidey 


course  I  would  n't  want  to  do  that  here.  Mr. 
Strong  pops  in  too  unexpectedly,  but  you 
have  n't  any  Mr.  Strong  there.  Uncle  Mart 
goes  over  for  the  mail — five  miles  away  in  an- 
other direction, — so  I  don't  have  to  worry  about 
that. 

I  love  you,  Jane.  I  wish  we  could  homestead 
together. 

Your  harum-scarum  friend, 
Hope  Denham. 

P.  S.  I  am  going  to  get  a  cow.  I  never 
milked  one  in  my  life,  but  I  've  had  lots  of  ex- 
perience with  fountain  pens. 


[181] 


CHAPTER  XII 

HUNTING 

NO  sound  had  broken  the  stillness  of  the  en- 
tire day.  Under  a  dull  sky,  after  a  week 
of  gloom,  Jane  was  beginning  to  feel  isolated. 
Some  days  she  felt  that  the  forest  had  with- 
drawn itself  from  her.  It  seemed  wrapped  in 
impenetrable  mystery.  Silence  seemed  to  have 
settled  over  the  mountain  sides,  even  though 
there  was  always  the  crashing  of  Thunder  Creek 
as  it  passed  her  cabin.  She  had  thought  that 
there  was  always  a  murmur  in  the  forest. 
Sometimes  when  she  dropped  down  quietly  on 
the  trail,  or  sat  on  the  Douglas  fir  looking  into 
the  maze  of  green  on  the  forest  side,  she  had  be- 
come conscious  of  an  almost  inaudible  scurry- 
ing among  the  salal  and  fern  brakes,  a  quiver- 
ing of  the  crimson  berries  of  the  kinnikinnick, 
of  the  soft  light  patter  of  soft  little  feet,  and 
sometimes,  but  especially  at  evening,  she  could 
hear  the  faint,  lonely  cry  of  the  loon.     But  that 

[182] 


Hunting 


was  only  when  the  stream  had  been  lower.  It 
was  higher  now,  through  recent  rains.  She 
imagined  that  in  the  very  heart  of  the  forest 
there  might  be  absolute  stillness,  though  at  the 
edge  of  Thunder  Creek  and  the  tiny  clearings 
around  the  cabins  there  had  been  a  light  flutter 
and  ripple  and  rustling,  evidence  of  life  and 
action  among  the  alder  saplings  and  the  spruces, 
for  leaves  and  branches  and  treetops  and  tor- 
rent kept  up  incessant  movement.  But  under 
the  gray  sky  everything  seemed  quieter. 

She  sat  mending  a  three-cornered  tear  this 
afternoon  of  early  November,  thinking  of  the 
old  proverb:  "Wherever  a  man  dwells,  he  is 
sure  to  have  a  thorn  bush  near  his  door."  The 
thorn  bush  this  winter  was  going  to  be  the  isola- 
tion. That  was  clear.  The  Widdy  might  be 
some  protection  but  she  certainly  was  no  com- 
pany. 

Jane  stirred  the  fire  for  heat  and  opened  the 
door  for  light.  She  looked  up  again  at  the  gray, 
somber  sky.  Then  her  eye  caught  a  movement 
far  down  the  trail.  She  watched  anxiously  for 
a  moment  until  she  heard  the  yodel,  already 
growing  familiar.     Burnham  was  the  one  man 

[183] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

who  dropped  in  on  his  way  up  and  down  the 
trail,  but  this  seemed  to  be  some  one  else.  As 
he  came  nearer  he  waved  his  hat.  A  moment 
later  she  recognized  the  ranger.  He  sprang  off 
his  horse  and  dropped  the  bridle  to  the  ground. 

"I  know  it 's  a  little  late,"  he  said  a  little  apol- 
ogetically, after  greetings  had  been  exchanged, 
"but  I  wondered  if  you  would  care  to  go  hunt- 
ing. We  are  so  busy  now,  cutting  trails  before 
the  snow  flies,  that  I  cannot  take  a  full  day  off." 

"Are  there  calling  hours  in  the  forest? 
Come  in." 

He  studied  her  face  a  moment  as  he  entered 
the  cabin  and  seated  himself.  He  wondered  if 
she  were  angry  about  the  cutting  of  the  Douglas 
fir.  He  himself  never  saw  the  splendid  tree  ly- 
ing on  the  earth  without  a  sense  of  regret,  and 
yet  a  sense  of  relief.     Jane  studied  him. 

"Dear  me!  How  shall  I  talk  to  him?  What 
shall  I  say?  If  I  am  silent  or  quiet  he  will  think 
me  angry."  Her  thoughts  flew  from  one  subject 
to  another,  as  a  possible  outlet  for  conversation. 
She  never  had  any  trouble  in  talking  with  Burn- 
ham.  Yet  her  chief  fear  with  this  man  was  lest 
he    should    think   her   inhospitable.     She   suc- 

[184] 


Hunting 


ceeded  in  making  a  few  aimless  remarks,  until 
he  spoke  again  of  hunting. 

"Yes,  indeed.  I  should  enjoy  it.  Is  it  far? 
Is  there  hunting  right  around  here?" 

"There  are  pheasants  and  deer.  I  suppose 
you  have  discovered  there  is  fishing  in  the  lake 
above." 

"The  Wid — er — Mrs.  Patton — said  there  was. 
I  went  fishing  there  one  day." 

"Catch  anything?" 

"No-o." 

"Perhaps  you  did  n't  have  the  right  bait." 

"I  did  n't  stay  very  long.  It  was  so  quiet  and 
so  lonely  I  could  n't  stand  it." 

"We  '11  go  fishing  with  you  some  day — Burn- 
ham  or  I."  His  fine,  strong  face  had  softened 
at  her  confession.  He  picked  up  her  gun  and 
examined  it.  He  noted  that  it  was  in  good  con- 
dition. 

"This  is  all  right  for  large  game." 

"You  mean  for  deer.  I  never  could  shoot  a 
deer, — never.  I  saw  a  deer's  eyes  once  after  it 
was  shot.  I  'd  rather  starve  than  kill  one  my- 
self." 

"It  is  almost  murderous  to  kill  them  merely 
[185] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

for  sport,  or  merely  for  the  head  and  horns. 
But  where  one  shoots  them  for  food — the  only 
fresh  meat  we  have  out  here — is  it  any  worse 
than  fishing?     Or  shooting  pheasants?" 

"But  fish  never  look  at  you  in  that  human  way, 
or  pheasants,  either." 

"Do  you  want  to  take  my  fowling  piece  and 
let  me  take  your  gun?  I  started  out  with  the 
idea  of  shooting  pheasants." 

The  gun  question  settled,  with  another  log  on 
the  fire  to  keep  it  until  their  return,  they  started 
off.  Goss  led  the  way,  stepping  surely  as  though 
following  a  trail,  though  to  Jane  the  forest 
looked,  as  it  always  did,  like  an  impenetrable 
tangle.  There  could  be  but  little  talk  except  a 
few  words  now  and  then,  as  he  held  back  a 
branch  which  might  strike  her  in  the  face, 
pointed  out  an  unusual  clump  of  sword  ferns 
waving  high  over  some  old  decayed  log,  its  for- 
mer trunk  a  mere  shell  of  rotten  wood  ready  to 
sink  under  the  lightest  step.  Jane  was  a  fairly 
good  mountaineer.  With  flannel  waist  of  gray- 
blue,  high  boots  which  met  at  the  knee  her  short 
dark-blue  skirt  (Bert  Fairfax  had  warned  her 
against  ever  wearing  brown  during  the  hunting 

[186] 


Hunting 


season),  and  a  soft  felt  hat,  she  moved  lightly 
over  log  bridges,  or  sprang  from  rock  to  rock 
over  some  small  brook  with  a  steady  footing 
which  made  the  walk  a  pleasure  to  her  com- 
panion. The  ranger,  less  artistic  but  none  the 
less  practical  in  his  dress,  looked  like  many  an- 
other hunter  until  he  turned  and  she  caught  the 
pleasant  lines  in  his  face  and  the  pleasant  light 
in  the  steady  gray  eyes. 

"We  might  have  brought  the  dog,"  said  Goss 
suddenly  as  they  paused  near  the  edge  of  the 
creek. 

"He  's  lost — I  don't  know  where.  I  can't  find 
him."     Her  voice  was  distressed. 

"Lost!     How?" 

"I  don't  know.  One  day  I  was  digging 
around  a  little,  cutting  at  salal  bushes,  when  he 
began  to  chase  a  squirrel.  The  squirrel  ran 
from  one  tree  to  another  in  the  most  provoking 
way,  and  then  I  heard  Salt  far  off,  barking  in  the 
strangest  way.  I  had  never  heard  him  bark  like 
that  before.  And  then  there  was  some  other 
sound — I  can't  tell  what  it  was.  It  sounded  al- 
most as  if — as  if — I  can't  express  it.  But  it 
frightened  me  so  that  I  jumped  up  and  ran  into 

[187] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

the  house,  though  I  left  the  door  open  after  a 
minute  for  Salt.  But  he  did  n't  come.  Then 
I  took  my  gun  and  went  out  to  the  corner  of 
the  house  and  whistled  for  him  the  longest 
while.  There  was  n't  a  sound  and  I  have  n't 
seen  him  since." 

Goss  stood  looking  down  upon  her  gravely. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said  very  gently.  "It  was  a 
real  loss  for  you." 

"I  felt  like  such  a  coward.  I  do  yet.  If  poor 
Salt  was  attacked  by  some  wild  animal  I  ought 
to  have  gone  to  his  rescue.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

"No,  indeed,"  he  answered  emphatically. 
"Indeed  I  do  not.  You  did  the  very  thing  you 
should  have  done." 

"Run  into  the  cabin  and  shut  the  door  and 
shake  like  a  leaf?  It  was  cowardly.  And  I  'm 
lonely  without  the  dog." 

The  ranger's  sympathetic  manner  had  made 
the  girl  forget  her  awe  of  him. 

"It  is  possible,"  he  explained,  "that  some  wild 
animal  attacked  Salt;  more  possible,  I  think,  that 
Salt  attacked  the  wild  animal  first  and  brought 

[188] 


Hunting 


about  his  own  destruction.  I  'm  sorry  he 's 
gone.  A  dog  is  jolly  good  company.  But  you 
did  right  not  to  follow  him." 

He  had  almost  forgotten  pheasants  until  his 
eye  caught  sight  of  one,  a  mass  of  gray  feathers, 
close  up  against  the  trunk  of  a  small  spruce  tree 
whose  low  branches  brought  the  bird  well 
within  range.  He  pointed  it  out  to  Jane.  She 
raised  her  gun  and  aimed  it,  but  her  hands  were 
trembling.  Goss  stepped  backward  in  order 
not  to  distract  her.  Bang!  went  the  gun.  The 
pheasant  flapped  its  wings  and  flew  into  the  for- 
est. 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Jane,  crimson  with  mortifi- 
cation. She  realized  that  she  had  shut  her  eyes 
when  she  fired. 

The  ranger's  face  was  perfectly  grave. 

"Any  one  might  have  missed  it,"  he  said 
quietly.     "It  was  very  close  to  the  trunk." 

"You  would  n't  have  missed  it."  She  had  no 
wish  to  defend  herself. 

"I  had  a  funny  experience  in  the  Maine  woods 
one  autumn,"  he  laughed.  "A  party  of  us  were 
out,  including  one  young  woman  who  could  n't 

[189] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

shoot  as  well  as  you  can.  She  was  with  me  and 
we  both  aimed  for  a  pheasant  at  the  same  mo- 
ment. When  we  picked  up  the  bird,  we  could 
see  at  a  glance  that  both  our  shots  had  not  taken 
effect.  She  fairly  shouted  with  exultation:  'I 
shot  it!  I  shot  it!  You  missed P  It  never  en- 
tered her  mind  for  two  years  after,  as  she  herself 
told  me,  that  she  might  have  missed  it  and  I  shot 
it." 

The  deep  pleasant  voice  as  they  walked  on 
was  pitched  low  for  fear  of  disturbing  possible 
game,  but  some  sound  caused  a  stir  in  a  clump  of 
young  Christmas  trees.  Goss  fired  as  a  startled 
brown  head  was  lifted  above  the  bushes.  Some- 
thing fell.  Both  ran  forward  but  Goss  reached 
the  spot  first  and  called  back: 

"Don't  come,  Miss  Myers.  It 's — er — ven- 
ison." 

They  reached  the  cabin  in  high  spirits,  for  a 
venison  dinner  and  good  company  would  take 
off  the  edge  of  isolation  for  days  to  come. 

Goss  carved  out  a  generous  share  for  the 
Widdy.  "I  don't  know  where  she  will  keep  it, 
though,"  he  added  as  he  started  for  the  door. 

"I  know  where  I  am  going  to  keep  mine," 
[  190] 


Hunting 


said  Jane  triumphantly.     "I  shall  hang  it  up  in 
my  screen  pen." 

"And  bring  all  the  cougars  in  the  forest  down 
around  your  cabin?"  He  started  out  of  the 
door. 

When  he  returned,  Jane  felt  again  her  sense 
of  awe  of  him.     He,  in  turn,  was  silent  also. 

The  venison  dinner  was  not  a  very  gay  one. 

"Do  you  think  you  're  going  to  like  it  here?" 
he  asked  at  last,  glancing  around  the  cozy  little 
room. 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"The  snows  are  deep  in  winter,  you  know. 
You  will  be  shut  in." 

"I  shall  be  happy  here.  I  am  positive  of 
that." 

"Do  you  know  the  definition  of  'positive'?" 
He  was  smiling  now. 

"Absolutely  certain,  is  n't  it?" 

"Some  one  defined  it  as  'being  mistaken  at  the 
top  of  your  vo?:e.'  " 

"Perhaps  I  shall  be  bored.  But  I  was  so  tired 
of  teaching.  Do  you  ever  get  tired  of  your 
work?" 

"I  love  it.     It  means  so  much  to  me." 
[191] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"I  should  think  you  would  get  tired  of  the 
rough  life — or  is  n't  it  rough?"  she  added,  half 
timidly,  hoping  that  she  was  not  offending  him. 

"You  love  the  beauty  of  the  forests.  I  have 
heard  you  say  so.  Do  you  remember  the  view 
of  the  snow-capped  peak  towering  high  over  the 
valley  and  the  rounded  lower  mountains,  on  the 
road  as  you  came  out?" 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"Can  you  imagine  what  that  scene  would  be 
if  instead  of  these  magnificent  forests,  green  and 
fresh,  bending  and  swaying  and  murmuring  in 
the  breeze,  far  below  you,  and  above  you  as 
well — what  that  scene  would  be  if  instead  it 
were  merely  thousands  of  acres  of  mountain  side 
covered  with  charred  and  hideous  stumps?" 

Jane  began  to  gather  up  the  dishes.  Goss 
rose  and  stood  by  the  hearth,  leaning  against  the 
primitive  mantle. 

"Our  work,"  he  went  on,  "is  to  care  for  the 
forests.  Theoretically  it  is  not  simply  fire 
fighting,  but  practically,  under  the  present  con- 
ditions, it  is.  But  it 's  the  old  story  of  an  ounce 
of  prevention.  The  way  to  fight  fires  is  to  pre- 
vent them  from  starting.    We  try  to  protect  ex- 

[  192  J 


Hunting 


posed  borders  from  fires  among  rubbish  left  in 
logged-off  lands — " 

"Those  logged-off  lands  are  fearful.  They 
are  blots  and  scars  on  the  face  of  nature." 

"Some  lands,  useful  for  agriculture,  ought 
to  be  logged  off,  you  know.  Then  when  the 
stumps  are  disposed  of  by  burning  or  pulling 
out,  you  have  land  of  high  value.  But  I  mean 
where  the  land  is  simply  stripped  of  its  timber 
and  left  to  go  to  ruin,  with  piles  of  debris  which 
ought  to  be  burned  and  are  not.  Usually  such 
lands  are  near  a  railroad  or  on  a  logging  road, 
and  sparks  catch  in  the  dry  tinder.  They  begin 
to  smolder  a  light  blaze  comes  and  the  flames 
sweep  up  into  the  standing  timber  on  a  near-by 
hillside — perhaps  into  a  reserve  or  a  national 
park.  If  we  can  protect  the  borders  of  the  for- 
est from  fires  among  debris,  and  from  fires  in 
slashings,  we  can  keep  the  mountain  sides  for- 
ested.    Otherwise, — perhaps  not." 

"I  noticed  in  coming  into  the  mountains  in 
August,"  Jane  answered,  "that  along  the  tracks 
piles  of  old  ties  were  burning.  The  valleys 
were  full  of  thick  blue  smoke,  cutting  off  all 
view,  and  in  some  places  the  fire  from  the  ties 

[  193] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

had  run  through  the  dry  bushes  and  set  fire  to 
trees.  Section  hands  were  around,  watching  the 
fires  I  suppose,  but  they  did  not  seem  to  be  do- 
ing anything  to  put  them  out." 

"They  take  it  for  granted  they  will  burn  out 
before  a  breeze  springs  up.  The  railroads  are 
one  of  our  worst  enemies  on  fires.  Besides  burn- 
ing their  ties  at  the  driest  time  of  the  year,  the 
engines  on  the  upgrade  emit  volcanoes  of  sparks. 
That  starts  a  good  many  fires.  Spark  arresters 
partially  prevent  that,  but  they  cut  off  power 
from  the  engine,  too.  They  ought  to  burn  oil. 
Lightning  starts  some  fires,  and  the  sheep  men 
start  them — " 

"Why?" 

"They  want  more  pasturage.  Campers  start 
a  lot  of  fires  by  pure  carelessness — start  fires 
against  dead  logs  and  leave  them  smolder- 
ing. Throw  cigars  and  cigarette  ends  in  dry 
brush  and  leave  them  there  to  go  out  or  to  start 
a  little  piece  of  dry  humus  to  smoldering. 
Then  a  breeze  springs  up — and  away  goes  a 
smart  blaze  up  into  the  timber.  Miners  and 
prospectors  are  sinners,  as  well.     Loggers  burn 

[  194] 


Hunting 


their  slashings  in  dry  summer  weather — same 
story." 

"Is  n't  there  some  law  about  slashings?" 

"That  they  be  burned, — yes.  But  they 
should  be  burned  only  in  late  fall  or  in  the  early 
spring.  Some  day  the  loggers  and  railroads  will 
have  to  come  to  time — but  we  can't  control  the 
lightning  yet." 

Jane  had  piled  the  dishes  up  on  the  broad 
board  which  she,  like  many  others,  used  as  a 
kitchen  table.  Goss  paced  up  and  down  the 
small  room,  while  she  dropped  into  the  smaller 
rocker. 

"You  were  trained  in  the  forestry  school, 
were  n't  you?"  she  asked  at  length. 

"Yes.  That 's  where  Burnham  and  I  learned 
to  know  each  other.  Burnham  is  a  fine  fellow. 
My  family  do  not  like  my  profession,  though. 
Mother  wanted  me  to  be  a  lawyer,  and  my  sister 
cannot  understand  why  I  enjoy  looking  and  liv- 
ing like  a  tramp,  as  she  expresses  it.  She 's 
rather  fond  of  social  life.  But  I  don't  expect 
to  be  a  ranger  always,"  he  added.  "I  was  a  lit- 
tle slow  in  getting  started,  thanks  to  an  A.  B., 

[195] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

and  then  a  try  at  law,  and  then  the  forestry 
school.  Then  Mother  and  Madge  wanted  to  go 
abroad  and  could  n't  go  without  a  man.  Fi- 
nally, we  arranged  it  so  that  Madge  did  the 
cathedrals,  and  I  studied  European  forestry 
methods.  Mother  vibrated  between  us  until  she 
is  reasonably  certain,  I  think,  that  Westminster 
cathedral  is  in  the  middle  of  the  Black  Forest. 
So  I  was  twenty-seven  before  I  came  out  here." 

Jane  did  some  rapid  figuring.  This  was  his 
second  year  as  ranger,  she  knew.  So  he  was 
twenty-nine.  He  looked  a  little  older.  She 
had  put  him  down  for  thirty  or  thirty-one. 

"And  your  promotion?" 

"I  understand  that  I  am  slated  for  deputy 
supervisor  of  this  reserve  within  a  few  months — 
oh,  possibly  it  may  be  delayed  until  next  sum- 
mer. But  I  need  this  experience  if  I  am  to 
manage  other  rangers.  I  can  gauge  their  work 
better." 

"What  does  a  forestry  school  teach?" 

Goss  had  become  unusually  talkative.  Jane 
decided  that  the  best  way  to  interest  him  was  to 
keep  him  talking  about  his  work.  He  did  not 
answer  directly  as  he  paced  up  and  down  the 

[196] 


Hunting 


room,  stopping  now  and  then  to  lean  against  the 
mantle  and  look  down  at  her.  Outside  the  gray 
afternoon  was  dimming  into  twilight. 

"The  examination  for  ranger  is  the  funniest 
thing  you  ever  saw.  Part  of  it  is  practical,  you 
know.  A  man  is  given  a  mixed-up  assortment 
of  frying  pans,  blankets,  tin  plates  and  cups, 
axes,  coffeepots,  shovels,  provisions,  clothing, 
ropes,  and  anything  that  is  necessary,  and  told 
to  fasten  them  on  a  horse's  back  for  a  trip  into 
the  mountains.  You  can  imagine  such  an  array 
on  a  tricksy  little  cayuse  that  will  have  to  climb, 
swing,  slide,  jump, — yes,  and  wade, — through 
streams  and  over  steep  roads  barred  by  logs  and 
sometimes  almost  impassable.  You  see  such  a 
test  shows  his  ability  to  make  a  hitch  that  will 
hold — and  when  a  man  loses  his  coffeepot  ten 
miles  from  another  one,  it 's  food  for  reflection 
even  if  no  hot  drink  for  his  other  self." 

He  paced  the  floor  a  few  minutes  and  sud- 
denly stopped  by  her  chair. 

"What  do  you  do  here  all  by  yourself?" 

"Mend  and  sew,  cook  and  keep  house,  and 
read — and  write  letters.  Sometimes  I  grub 
around  the  bushes  and  cut  out  vines  that  may 

[  197] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

trip  me  up  on  the  trail  to  the  creek — and  some- 
times I  dream  dreams  and  see  visions." 

"Do  you?"  His  whole  face  lighted  up,  as  he 
added  mentally:  "You  're  all  right  then.  I 
thought  you  might  be  a  man  hater."  His  keen 
glance  studied  her  face.  Why  should  a  woman 
like  this  take  up  a  homestead  in  the  forest?  He 
was  certain  that  there  was  a  love  affair  back  of 
it  somewhere, — "even  if  her  name  is  Jane,"  he 
added  to  himself,  smiling  at  a  certain  recollec- 
tion. 

"I  don't  mean  to  be  curious,"  he  said  aloud, 
"but  I  cannot  understand  why  a  woman  should 
take  up  a  claim  in  such  an  isolated  place.  It 's 
natural  to  think  of  her  in  a  home." 

Jane  flushed.     He  was  on  that  tack,  was  he!! 

"I  was  thoroughly  tired  of  teaching,"  she  said 
with  a  certain  indifference  in  her  tone, — "thor- 
oughly tired  of  it — and — and  I  think  every 
woman  has  a  right  to  live  her  own  life.  That 
is,  make  the  most  of  herself." 

"And  you  think  you  are  making  the  most  of 
yourself  out  here — with  the  Widdy  and  the 
bears?" 

She  started  to  say  "And  you  and  Mr.  Burn- 
[198] 


Hunting 


ham,"  but  caught  herself  as  she  remembered  she 
was  indebted  to  Bert  Fairfax  for  their  attentions. 

"Why  not?"  she  answered.  "I  have  more 
time  for  reading  than  I  ever  had  before — more 
time  for  thinking — more  exercise." 

"How  about  other  people?  And  it 's  for  five 
years,  you  know." 

He  was  beating  around  that  same  old  circle 
again.  She  could  almost  hear  Bert  Fairfax  say, 
in  his  frank,  honest  way,  "Jane,  why  don't  you 
marry?" 

"Tell  me  something  more  about  your  work." 
She  was  anxious  to  change  the  subject.  "What 
are  the  plans  for  this  reserve?" 

"We  are  only  one  reserve  in  many."  The 
smile  left  his  face.  He  felt  a  little  disappointed 
in  the  girl.  "Take  all  the  reserves  together  and 
the  government  is  planning  something  like 
thirty  thousand  miles  of  trail — that  includes 
pack  trails  and  blazed  trails,  both, — some  sixteen 
thousand  miles  of  telephone  wire,  and  about 
seven  thousand  miles  of  good,  passable  roads. 
But  Congress  cuts  down  the  appropriations  to 
such  an  extent  that  heaven  only  knows  when  we 
will  get  all  this.     And  we  need  it — need  it  des- 

E 199] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

perately — if  we  are  to  save  the  forests.  Tell  me 
what  you  dream  about." 

He  was  standing  in  the  chimney  corner  now, 
looking  down  at  her.  The  tall,  finely  built 
figure  leaned  forward  a  little  with  a  certain 
earnestness.  Then  suddenly  realizing  how  he 
towered  above  her,  he  sat  down  in  the  other 
rocker  and  turned  the  chair  so  he  could  face  her. 

Jane  answered  a  little  guardedly. 

"I  have  learned  an  immense  amount  of  salt 
folklore  since  I  came  out  here,"  she  laughed. 
"I  have  found  out  that  salt  is  the  remedy  for 
everything  evil — why  did  n't  I  think  of  that  be- 
fore?" 

"Of  what?" 

"Putting  salt  on  that  pheasant's  tail.  It 
would  have  saved  me  the  mortification  of  seeing 
the  bird  flap  its  wings  and  fly  off.  I  know  that 
joke  is  a  trite  one — or  used  to  be.  But  with  the 
Widdy's  ideas,  I  see  it  in  a  new  light.  And  I 
have  learned,  from  a  friend  of  mine  who  has 
access  to  a  library,  that  witches  are  fond  of  lurk- 
ing under  alder  trees — and  just  think  of  all  the 
alder  trees  which  border  Thunder  Creek.  But 
the  bracken  will  break  the  spell  if  you  cut  the 

[  200] 


Hunting 


root  the  right  way,  because  at  the  joints  you  will 
find  the  letter  C.  Also  holly  is  fatal  to  witches, 
and  I  think  the  Oregon  grape  ought  to  be.  It 
is  the  holly-leaved  barberry.  Sue  Fairfax  is 
getting  to  be  an  expert  in  witchcraft  lore,  and  I 
have  lots  of  fun  about  the  Widdy  with  her.  Of 
course,  I  don't  think  the  Widdy  really  believes  in 
witches,  but  she  is  always  guarding  against  in- 
visible evils;  therefore  her  quantities  of  salt. 
But  then,  I  Ve  had  experiences,  too." 

"What  kind?" 

"I  Ve  seen  nixies  when  I  went  to  get  water. 
And  once  when  I  was  sitting  perfectly  still  on  a 
trunk,  I  saw  some  of  the  moss  people.  They 
are  the  same  size  as  little  children  but  very  gray 
and  old-looking,  hairy  and  dressed  in  moss. 
Once,  in  the  moonlight,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Queen  Mab." 

"Did  you  go  out  in  the  moonlight  alone?" 

"Yes.     I    had    forgotten    to    bring    in    fresh 


water." 


"Don't  do  it,  please.     It  is  n't  safe." 
There  were  two  very  striking  things  about 
Leonard  Goss,  and  his  request  brought  out  both 
of  them.     Jane  took  her  turn  in  looking  at  him 

[  201  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

as  she  studied  over  the  matter  a  moment.  He 
was  a  man  who  commanded  as  a  matter  of 
course.  And  he  expected  to  be  obeyed.  Yet 
there  was  nothing  dictatorial  in  his  voice,  and 
he  possessed  a  wonderful  gentleness  of  manner. 
Jane  remembered  a  remark  her  mother  often 
made : — that  a  man  who  is  truly  strong  is  always 
the  gentlest  of  men.  Especially  with  women, 
easily  crushed  by  such  strength,  are  they  defer- 
ential. His  request  had  been  made  in  the  pleas- 
antest  way,  in  the  kindest  manner;  yet  it  was  a 
command  and  she  recognized  it  as  such  without 
resentment. 

"Do  you  never  dream  of  people  when  you 
dream  dreams?"  he  asked.  He  was  wondering 
whether  there  were  any  man-hating  propensities 
in  this  capable,  energetic  girl.  She  answered 
guardedly  again: 

"I  see  visions  for  all  my  friends.  I  feel  sure 
Mrs.  Fairfax's  Teddy  will  be  a  philosopher. 
Sue  has  two  beautiful  children.  You  know 
Mr.  Fairfax,  don't  you?" 

"I  have  just  met  him — through  Mr.  Burn- 
ham.     That  is  all." 

"Then  I  have  another  friend  who  is  a  home- 
[  202  ] 


Hunting 


steader,  near  the  foothills  in  Colorado.  She  is 
the  one  who  inspired  me.  I  dream  about  Hope 
— and  her  friend." 

"She  is  engaged?" 

"She  was — yes,  she  is." 

"She  has  n't  broken  it?" 

Little  enough  Goss  cared  about  the  friend's 
friend.  He  was  trying  to  study  out  the  woman 
before  him. 

"I  don't  know.  She  's  very  impetuous — and 
her  letter  is  not  very  clear.  But  I  have  dreamed 
about  both  of  them  and  how  happy  they  are 
going  to  be." 

The  strong  face  relaxed.  She  was  n't  a  man 
hater,  then, — even  if  some  love  affair  had  driven 
her  into  the  wilderness.  She  was  independent 
enough,  but  there  were  no  apparent  distortions 
of  view.  The  ranger  was  hardly  conscious  of 
his  own  thoughts,  or  where  they  were  leading 
him. 

"You  must  remember  one  thing," — and  he 
rose  to  go.  "The  snows  here  are  deep  some- 
times, although  the  winters  are  never  severely 
cold.  Many  a  winter  it  does  not  reach  any- 
where near  zero.     But  you  must  fill  your  house 

[203  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

here  with  plenty  of  wood.     That  is  absolutely 
necessary." 

"It  will  clutter  up  my  cabin." 

"Never  mind  that.  The  crowding  will  stead- 
ily diminish  after  the  cold  and  snow  come.  Fill 
up  your  extension  also,  and  use  that  first." 

"I  'd  rather  use  that  last." 

"Impossible.  Use  the  wood  from  out-of- 
doors  first;  save  this  inside  for  emergencies." 

Jane  looked  up  at  him.  He  almost  dictated 
to  her.  Why  could  he  never  remember  it  was 
her  cabin  and  not  his? 

Perhaps  he  caught  her  thought,  or  perhaps  he 
was  recalling  winter  experiences,  for  he  looked 
down  upon  her  very  thoughtfully.  He  knew 
something  of  what  was  before  her.  Jane  sud- 
denly realized  again  that  the  gray  eyes  could  be 
exceedingly  kind. 

It  was  only  late  afternoon,  yet  dark,  when 
Dick  trotted  down  the  trail.  Goss  looked  back 
as  he  began  to  wind  among  the  trees  and  his  face 
lighted  up  again  as  he  saw  the  girlish  figure 
silhouetted  in  black  against  the  bright  light  of 
the  cabin.  Then  the  door  closed  and  all  was 
dark. 

t  204] 


Hunting 


"She  's  plucky,  all  right,  Dick.  If  she  can 
pull  through  this  first  winter,  she  '11  win." 

He  fell  into  a  brown  study,  letting  the  canny 
horse  pick  his  own  way,  but  just  before  he 
reached  the  main  trail  his  trained  ear  caught 
from  somewhere  the  far-off  cry  of  a  cougar. 

"I  was  afraid  of  it,  Dick,"  he  said  aloud. 

He  was  perfectly  certain  then  as  to  what  had 
become  of  poor  Salt. 

As  Jane  turned  back  to  the  fire,  she  took  again 
a  much-read  letter  from  her  workbasket.  It 
was  in  a  different  tone  from  Hope's  buoyant 
one. 

Dear  Jane: 

I  have  had  the  most  harrowing  experience 
this  last  week.  I  am  so  upset.  I  have  sud- 
denly discovered  that  Jack  Strong  is  the  brother 
of  Mac,  my  old  principal.  Can  you  imagine 
anything  more  unexpected?  It  seems  that  they 
were  both  very  small  children  when  their 
mother  married  again  and  Mac  took  his  step- 
father's name.  Jack  was  the  elder  and  he 
liked  the  ring  of  his  own  name  so  well  that  he 
would  n't  give  it  up. 

[205  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Really,  it  has  upset  me.  I  don't  hate  Mac, 
even  though  I  did  have  such  a  time  with  him, 
for  you  know  I  have  always  felt  Mrs.  Mac  was 
much  to  blame  for  his  distorted  views  of  things. 
When  a  man  is  prejudiced,  you  know,  he  is  a 
good  deal  worse  than  a  woman.  She  talked  so 
much  that  it  was  from  her  half-statements,  I 
have  been  told,  there  grew  up  all  those  exagger- 
ated stories  about  my  defying  him  and  telling 
him  I  would  wear  crape  to  school  if  I  wanted 
to.  I  have  Mrs.  Mac  to  thank  for  some  very 
unpleasant  gossip.  And  if  Jack  insists  that  I 
shall  go  right  into  his  family  and  subject  my- 
self to  his  sister-in-law's  ungenerous  tongue,  we 
shall  have  to  call  it  off.  She  does  n't  spare  her 
dearest  friends.  Oh,  dear!  Why  did  they 
have  to  be  brothers?  Do  write  and  give  me 
some  good  advice,  that's  a  dear.  I  love  Jack 
so  dearly.  And  to  have  the  shadow  of  this  old 
annoyance  come  in,  makes  me  sick. 

Just  now  I  'm  nothing  but    A  forlorn 

Hope. 

Jane  studied  the  letter  a  long  while.  She 
had  known  of  the  difficulty  at  the  time,  had 

[206] 


Hunting 


known  of  Mrs.  Mac's  share  in  it  because  she 
had  called  there  one  day  when  Mrs.  Mac,  not 
knowing  of  their  intimacy,  started  to  gossip 
with  her  about  Hope.  Mac  was  not  an  easy 
man  to  get  along  with.  After  one  year  of  it, 
Jane  had  asked  for  a  transfer. 

Her  mind  drifted  from  Jack  Strong  to  Jack 
Burnham  and  his  cordial  friendliness.  She 
was  beginning  to  feel  that  it  was  not  all  due 
to  his  friendship  for  Bert  Fairfax.  And  this 
Mr.  Goss — she  studied  over  him  for  a  long 
while.  It  was  only  when  the  fire  log  broke 
apart  with  a  sputter  and  a  shower  of  sparks  that 
she  aroused.  "After  all,  Jane,"  she  said  as  she 
wound  the  clock,  "there  are  some  pretty  nice 
men  in  this  world." 


[  207  ] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MY  CABIN 

FRESH  snow  had  fallen  during  the  night. 
Softly  the  flakes  sifted  down  from  the  low- 
hanging  clouds,  covering  everything  with  a 
clinging  mantle  of  white.  The  green  tops  of 
the  tall  cedars  were  crowned  with  fleecy  soft- 
ness, and  soft  bits  of  the  same  white  fleece  trans- 
formed the  wide-spreading  branches  of  the 
spruces.  The  seamy  ridges  of  the  firs  were 
softened  and  rounded  into  full  curves  by  the 
white  down  which  clung  to  them.  In  the 
clearings  around  the  cabins  snow  lay  a  foot 
deep,  though  under  the  protecting  trees  the 
sword  ferns  pierced  with  their  long  green 
points  their  white  covering.  Nor  had  the 
weight  of  snow  concealed  altogether  the  glossy 
leaves  of  the  salal  bushes. 

Jane  opened  the  door  to  look  out  upon  the 
first  beauty  of  the  day.  The  fresh  color  in  her 
face  and  the  clearness  of  the  violet  eyes  told  of 

[208] 


My  Cabin 


the  vigor  which  had  come  with  days  spent 
working  in  the  open  air.  Behind  her,  the  fire 
glimmered  and  crackled  on  the  open  hearth. 

"Isn't  it  wonderful!"  She  had  used  that 
phrase  so  often  this  last  autumn.  Every  month 
brought  some  new  beauty.  She  looked  at  the 
tall  firs  and  then  at  the  spruces  with  their  bur- 
dens of  white.  Toward  the  forest  she  could  see 
the  dark  trunks  black  against  the  snow. 

"This  certainly  is  better  than  teaching  school. 
And  I  can't  see  that  it  is  going  to  be  as  uncom- 
fortable as  last  winter  in  La  Casa.  Those  sharp, 
icy  blasts  across  the  prairies — straight  from  the 
north  pole.  And  the  storms  and  drifts  and 
half-frozen  children  and  blown-in  windows! 
Besides  an  uncomfortable  boarding  house! 
Oh,  it 's  the  woods  for  me.  And  it 's  my  cabin 
and  my  land.  Those  glorious  trees  all  belong 
to  me — and  just  now  they  're  getting  ready  for 
Christmas." 

She  looked  at  the  stump  of  the  Douglas  fir. 
She  would  beautify  that  stump  next  spring. 
She  would  nail  pieces  of  bark  to  it,  fill  in  the 
hollow  with  rich  earth  from  the  woods  and 
plant  in  it  great  sword  ferns,  filling  in  the  bare 

[  209  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

spots  with  the  dainty  leaves  of  the  red-berried 
kinnikinnick.  She  would  redeem  the  loss  of 
that  fir  so  far  as  she  could. 

She  looked  again  to  where  the  mighty 
Douglas  fir  lay,  its  entire  length  covered  with 
the  soft  white  snow.  Her  eye  followed  the 
trunk  to  its  upper  end,  free  now  from  the  green 
top  which  had  withered  and  faded  and  dropped 
away  in  the  fall.  The  branches  of  other  trees 
and  its  own  shattered  branches,  as  well,  lay 
piled  in  an  unsightly  heap  near  the  trail. 

"I  '11  have  that  cleared  away  next  summer. 
It  is  unsightly  and  it  might  be  dangerous  in  case 
of  fire.     It 's  so  near  the  trail." 

The  practical  side  of  things  recalled  her  to 
herself.  She  put  on  the  snowshoes  which 
Burnham  had  sent  out  to  her,  and  threw  her 
shawl  around  her.  She  needed  fresh  water  for 
coffee.  Thunder  Creek  had  risen,  she  knew, 
during  the  past  few  days.  The  water  was  swirl- 
ing almost  level  with  the  bank  in  the  deep  pool 
from  which  she  usually  dipped  it.  She  stood 
there  a  few  moments  watching  the  flecks  of 
foam  which  swept  by  her,  listening  to  its  steady 
roar.     On  the  other  side  of  the  creek  she  could 

t  210] 


My  Cabin 


see  the  footprints  of  some  wild  animal  which 
had  come  down  to  drink  during  the  night. 
She  began  to  hum  a  little  song. 

The  Widdy's  door  opened  as  she  stood  there 
and  she  waved  her  hand.  The  old  woman  ac- 
knowledged it  with  a  half  wave  of  hers  and  the 
door  closed  again. 

"It's  the  forest  for  me,"  she  exclaimed  as  she 
looked  around  her.     "I  love  it.     I  love  it." 

Suppose  the  snow  did  get  deeper.  She  had 
been  told  that  it  was  very  deep  in  midwinter  in 
the  higher  mountains.  But  what  did  it  matter  I 
There  was  plenty  of  food,  of  firewood,  of  books 
and  leisure  to  read  them,  sewing  enough  to  vary 
the  monotony,  beautiful  surroundings  and 
scenery,  good  health,  a  chance  for  exercise  on 
the  snowshoes,  nothing  to  worry  about,  and  the 
companionship,  such  as  it  was,  of  a  woman  old 
enough  and  experienced  enough  to  be  a  source 
of  safety  to  her.  Moreover,  there  were  the  two 
friends  of  Bert  Fairfax's  who  had  been  so  kind 
to  her.     What  more  could  any  one  want? 

Jane  recalled  the  arguments  which  had  been 
made  against  her  taking  up  a  homestead  and 
the  predictions  of  loneliness  and  unrest. 

[211] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"It 's  the  modern  craving  for  something 
new,"  she  explained  to  herself.  "It 's  a  sort  of 
universal  restlessness.  And  I  love  this  beauty 
and  quiet.  I  certainly  can  get  along  without 
people  for  one  winter,  anyway." 

She  almost  tripped  herself  on  her  snow- 
shoes.  She  was  not  at  all  expert  in  managing 
them. 

"There  was  Mrs.  Winthrop.  She  went  up 
into  the  mountains  one  winter  with  her  husband 
and  everybody  told  her  she  would  go  crazy  with 
the  loneliness  and  monotony  after  they  were 
snowed  in.  They  were  shut  in  for  five  months 
and  she  said  she  never  had  a  better  time.  She 
had  leisure  to  read  books  she  had  waited  half 
her  life  to  read.  Even  'Les  Miserables!'  I 
asked  for  that  once  at  the  public  library  and 
they  offered  me  three  fat  volumes — an  armload. 
So  I  decided  to  wait  to  read  it  until  I  stopped 
teaching  and  could  devote  myself  to  it.  Oh, 
I  'm  glad  I  came.  Now  I  have  my  very  own 
cabin.  And  I  can  plow  through  the  snow  far 
enough  to  get  water." 

She  leaned  over  the  creek  to  dip  up  a  pail  of 
water,  but   the    toe   of    one    clumsy   snowshoe 

[  212  ] 


My  Cabin 


caught  on  a  rock.  Catching  her  balance,  she 
dropped  the  bucket.  "Gracious!  I  '11  need  to 
be  more  careful."  She  picked  up  the  pail  and 
bracing  herself  carefully,  dipped  up  the  water 
from  the  racing  stream. 

As  she  stood  there,  the  sun  came  out.  The 
air  was  soft — not  at  all  cold.  She  knew  that 
the  cold  was  never  intense  in  the  Northwest. 
Bert  had  tried  to  explain  the  influence  of  the 
Japan  current — or  Japanese  current,  which  was 
it?  All  she  got  out  of  it  was  the  fact  that  the 
Northwest  had  an  unusually  temperate  climate, 
summer  and  winter.  So  now  as  the  gray  clouds 
broke  away  and  she  could  see  the  clear  blue  sky 
above,  and  the  sunlight  gleaming  on  the  fresh 
whiteness  of  the  snow,  she  hummed  her  little 
song  again.     What  more  could  any  one  want? 

"It's  a  good  sign.  A  happy  winter — snow 
outside,  perhaps,  but  plenty  of  sunshine  within. 
Why  does  the  Widdy  think  the  winters  are  so 
hard?  She  won't  give  me  anything  like  a  rea- 
son. And  why  did  those  two  men  urge  me  to 
go  into  town  until  spring?  It's  because  they 
think  I 'm  a  tenderfoot!  They  don't  realize 
what  storms  I  faced  last  winter." 

[213  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Still  she  stood  there,  looking  up  the  creek  and 
down,  humming  her  little  song  and  planning 
for  the  spring.  She  glanced  at  the  Thunder 
Creek  trail — so-called.  It  made  her  think  of  a 
fragment  from  some  poem: 

"The  path  that  seemed  a  twisted  dream 
Where  everything  came  true." 

"Now  what  does  that  mean?"  Jane  gazed 
at  the  trail  and  meditated  over  the  lines.  The 
trail  and  the  fragment  seemed  to  fit,  but  just 
what  did  it  mean? 

"I  'm  going  to  clear  that  trail  next  spring, 
also  the  one  to  the  fishing  pond  above.  I  '11 
need  both,  especially  the  fishing  trail."  The 
girl  never  dreamed  how  badly  she  would  some 
day  need  that  trail. 

"I  did  n't  suppose,  Jane,  that  there  would  be 
work  enough  in  one  small  cabin  to  keep  a  per- 
son busy  all  the  time,  but  truly  with  your  im- 
provements you  have  n't  wasted  much  time.  I 
wish  Sam  was  here.  I  'd  have  a  snowballing 
match  with  him." 

Sam's  company  had  been  a  real  pleasure  to 
the  homesteader.     With  him  she  felt  like  going 

[214] 


My  Cabin 


further  into  the  forest  on  short  exploring  ex- 
peditions. Otherwise  she  liked  to  sit  on  a  log 
and  look  around  her  quarter  section  and  remem- 
ber it  was  all  hers.  All  she  had  to  do  was  to 
"sit  down  on  it,"  as  that  woman  had  said,  for 
five  years,  and  improve  it,  according  to  law,  of 
course.  She  had  been  there  nearly  four  months. 
That  was  almost  half  a  year.  And  it  only  took 
the  two  halves  to  make  a  whole  year. 

The  Widdy  was  an  element  of  safety.  She 
considered  it  all,  as  she  stood  there.  Mono- 
syllabic Sam  afforded  a  certain  amount  of  com- 
panionship, and  the  two  men  who  occasionally 
came  up  the  trail  supplied  the  sense  both  of 
protection  and  companionship.  She  did  not 
realize  how  much  it  meant  to  both  of  them  to 
step  inside  that  cozy  room  with  its  feminine  be- 
longings, the  sewing  basket  on  the  table,  a  book 
with  a  handkerchief  in  it  to  mark  the  place, 
pictures  hung  on  the  rough  log  walls  against  a 
background  of  dull  brown  burlap.  She  did  not 
know  that  she  was  something  of  a  study  to  them. 
She  thought  she  was  doing  all  the  studying  of 
character.  And  they  were  a  study,  those  two. 
Burnham,  with  his  jolly  laugh,  his  bright  talk 

[215] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

and  humorous  turns  of  expression,  and  Goss 
with  his  air  of  command  and  of  protection,  the 
pleasant  gray  eyes  that  said  so  much  even 
though  the  lips  were  rather  silent, — a  man  who 
gave  always  the  impression  of  strength.  And 
it  was  so  especially  nice  that  they  were  intimate 
friends. 

Jane  wondered  as  she  picked  up  her  water 
bucket  and  turned  toward  the  cabin  where  they 
were  now.  Burnham  was  probably  in  Illahee, 
figuring  on  lumber,  but  Goss,  she  felt  sure,  was 
up  in  the  forest  somewhere,  loving  the  beauty 
of  it  as  she  did.  She  recalled  what  he  had  said 
once  about  protecting  the  deer  from  hunters 
who  shot  out  of  season,  and  his  half-vexed  re- 
mark, "I  wish  hunters  were  half  as  fond  of 
shooting  cougars  and  timber  wolves  as  they  are 
deer." 

Fifty  feet  from  her  cabin  door,  glancing  up, 
she  was  startled  to  see  some  wild  animal  sitting 
on  the  upper  half  of  the  Douglas  fir,  watching 
her.  The  animal  was  perhaps  a  hundred  feet 
from  the  cabin  door.  The  door  was  open,  too, 
she  remembered,  as  she  stopped  abruptly  and 
stared  at  the  terrifying  vision.     It  was  a  cougar, 

[216] 


My  Cabin 


— she  was  sure  of  that.  The  tawny  back,  the 
catlike  face!  She  dropped  the  bucket  of  wa- 
ter and  started  on  the  run  for  the  door.  But 
she  had  forgotten  the  snowshoes  and,  quick  as 
a  flash,  she  tripped  herself  up  and  went  down 
into  the  snow.  The  shawl  tangled  itself  about 
her  head.  A  wave  of  sickening  fear  took  pos- 
session of  her.  Even  without  that  wretched 
shawl,  she  might  scream  all  day  and  not  make 
the  Widdy  hear.  She  was  done  for!  Perhaps 
she  might  get  herself  free  from  those  clumsy 
snowshoes.  She  tried  to  free  her  arms  and 
head  from  the  entangling  shawl,  but  it  only 
made  matters  worse.  As  she  struggled  to  get 
on  her  feet,  something  sharp  caught  her  ankle. 
Was  it  the  cougar?  The  shriek  she  gave  was 
muffled  in  shawl  and  snow.  But  Jane  deter- 
mined to  die  hard  and  struck  at  the  animal  with 
the  other  shoe.  She  could  feel  long  claws 
scratching  her  skin,  cutting  in  deeper  and 
deeper.  Why  did  n't  he  kill  her  at  once  and  be 
done  with  it!  If  only  somebody  would  come! 
She  struggled  and  floundered  until  finally  with 
a  desperate  effort,  in  striking  at  the  cougar,  she 
freed  herself  from  one  snowshoe.     Another  ef- 

[217] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

fort  and  she  got  upon  her  feet,  her  hair  all  down 
and  full  of  snow,  the  shawl  wound  around  her 
neck,  her  eyes  full  of  snow.  But  the  cougar 
seemed  to  have  retreated  for  a  moment.  Per- 
haps she  might  gain  the  cabin.  She  glanced 
cautiously  about  her.  Perhaps  it  had  gone  into 
the  open  cabin  door!  Again  that  sickening 
sense  of  fear.  Jane  started  again  on  a  run,  as 
well  as  she  could,  the  free  foot  sinking  deep  into 
the  soft  snow,  the  other  one  striking  her  at  every 
moment.  The  snow  behind  her  was  dripping 
with  blood,  she  was  certain,  but  she  was  so  en- 
tangled in  that  confounded  shawl  she  could  not 
see  anything.  As  she  neared  the  cabin  door,  in 
this  unequal  struggle  between  the  two  feet,  the 
snow  partly  brushed  from  her  eyes,  she  looked 
again  to  the  log  where  the  animal  had  been. 

The  cougar  was  still  there!  But  as  she 
looked  it  rose,  moving  slightly  its  long,  lithe 
body.  It  lifted  one  foot — and  Jane  burst  in  at 
her  cabin  door,  sprawling  full  length  on  the 
floor  as  that  wretched  snowshoe  again  tripped 
her  up.  It  was  but  a  moment  before  she  sprang 
up,  expecting  every  second  to  see  that  tawny 
body  springing  in  the  door.     She  dropped  the 

[218] 


My  Cabin 


long  wooden  bar  into  its  place  with  trembling 
hands,  and  herself  into  the  nearest  chair. 
When  she  had  pulled  herself  together  again,  she 
stepped  carefully  to  the  nearest  knife,  and  de- 
liberately and  viciously  cut  the  lacings  of  the 
snowshoe.  She  had  tied  them  on,  around  her 
ankles!  It  was  such  a  relief  to  kick  it  into  the 
corner.  A  glance  at  the  broken  frame  ex- 
plained the  "clawing"  she  had  received.  She 
laughed,  though  half  hysterically. 

In  her  long  stay  at  the  creek,  she  had  com- 
pletely forgotten  her  breakfast.  She  forgot  it 
still  longer  as  she  sat  down,  with  two  ordinary 
shoes  clothing  her  feet  and  studied  over  the 
situation.  No  more  snowshoes  for  her  I  Not 
if  the  snow  was  ten  feet  deep!  She  looked  at 
her  ordinary  shoes  with  gratitude.  She  would 
trust  to  them,  snow  or  rain.  But  the  bacon, 
having  fried  to  a  beautiful  brown,  shrunk  into 
black,  burned  bits.  The  graham  gems  were 
hard  as  rocks  and  black  as  cinders.  Jane  did 
not  heed.  The  water  for  her  coffee  was  some- 
where on  the  trail  between  the  cabin  and  the 
creek.  She  sat  in  the  chair,  looking  at  her  feet, 
and  considered.     The  bottom  suddenly  seemed 

[  219  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

to  have  dropped  out  of  everything.  And  all 
because  a  tawny  cougar  had  sat  on  the  end  of  a 
fir  log  that  morning  and  watched  her  get  a 
bucket  of  water. 


[  220  ] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CHRISTMAS 

Letter  from  Jane  Myers  to  Hope  Denham. 

Dear  Hope: 

I  suppose  you  and  Uncle  Mart  and  Jack 
Strong  and  Miss  Woods  are  planning  all  sorts 
of  jolly  good  times  for  to-morrow.  I  don't 
believe  it 's  half  as  lonesome  homesteading  on 
the  plains  as  in  the  forest.  At  least  you  can 
see  far,  far  away.  But  here  everything  is  sol- 
emn and  mysterious,  and  on  a  gray  day  the 
somberness  fairly  gets  on  my  nerves.  I  some- 
times wonder  if  I  were  perfectly  wise  in  taking 
up  this  homestead — and  then  when  the  sun 
comes  out,  and  the  forest  rangers — I  mean  Mr. 
Goss  and  Mr.  Burnham — his  name's  Jack,  too, 
I  think  I  told  you — come,  why,  then  I  know  it 
is  wise.  Because  I  was  so  tired  of  teaching,  and 
you  know  when  you  get  a  square  peg  in  a  round 
hole,  it 's  hard  on  the  hole  as  well  as  on  the  peg, 

[  221  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

and  I  do  feel  myself  at  home  here — especially 
when  the  sun  shines.  Of  course,  I  can't  look 
four  years  and  a  half  ahead  and  see  what  results 
are  going  to  be,  because  you  know  results  are 
what  you  expect  but  consequences  are  what  you 
get.  And  there  are  times  when  I  feel  that  the 
mountain  range  I  should  most  enjoy  would  be  a 
good-sized  cook  stove — withi  reach  of  civiliza- 
tion. 

You  '11  think  I  am  blue,  but  really  I  am  not. 
I  am  very  cheerful,  indeed — smiling  like  For- 
tune, but  Mr.  Burnham  said  once  that  Fortune 
sometimes  smiled  because  she  had  to,  the  cir- 
cumstances were  so  ludicrous. 

But  will  you  believe  it?  I  am  here  in  my 
cabin,  the  day  before  Christmas  absolutely  and 
entirely  alone — unless  that  squatter 's  around 
the  woods  somewhere. 

Yesterday  when  I  went  to  the  creek  to  get 
some  water,  the  Widdy  opened  her  door  and 
flagged  me.  We  make  signals,  you  know,  be- 
cause we  could  n't  possibly  hear  over  the  rush 
of  the  water.  But  in  spite  of  the  crash  of  the 
creek,  I  could  hear  the  wind  muttering  some- 
thing to  itself  up  in  the  treetops,  and  everything 

t  222  ] 


Christmas 


was  a  little  gloomy.  So  I  went  over  the  bridge 
and  she  told  me  she  was  going  into  Illahee  for 
Christmas.  Her  son-in-law  was  there,  too, — 
though  I  had  n't  seen  him  come — he  had  come 
out  for  her  and  she  is  n't  coming  back  for  ten 
days.  And  I  know  Jack  Burnham — Mr.  Goss 
always  calls  him  Jack  and  it  seems  more  natural 
to  speak  of  him  that  way,  but  I  could  n't 
imagine  myself  speaking  of  Mr.  Goss  as 
Leonard — is  in  the  city,  and  heaven  only  knows 
where  Mr.  Goss  is.  Anyway,  I  don't,  and  I 
don't  much  care.  He's  not  the  most  sociable 
man  on  earth,  though  he  does  have  a  pleasant 
face,  I  '11  have  to  admit,  and  pleasant  eyes. 
But  anyway,  he  'd  never  put  himself  out  for  me. 
So  I  'm  alone  in  the  world,  with  just  those  hor- 
rible wood  rats  thumping  over  my  cabin  roof 
every  night  in  their  wild  efforts  to  get  in.  Did 
you  ever  hear  anything  equal  to  the  thump! 
thump!  thump!  of  their  feet! 

So  here  I  am,  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
with  my  housework  all  done  and  a  perfect  gale 
blowing  outside.  Mr.  Burnham  says  that  wind 
is  air  when  it  gets  in  a  hurry.  I  can't  go  out 
if  I  want  to,  and  it  seems  so  awfully  dreary  I 

[  223  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

don't  want  to.  There  's  about  a  foot  of  snow 
on  the  ground,  but  it  is  rather  wet — we  Ve  had 
no  real  cold  weather  yet.  It  has  snowed  off 
and  on,  but  I  think  it 's  going  to  be  a  very  pleas- 
ant open  winter.  Only  this  wind!  It 's  one  of 
those  soft,  warm,  wet  winds  from  the  ocean — I 
think  they  call  it  a  Chinook — and  it  started  to 
blow  last  night — perhaps  that 's  what  the  tree- 
tops  were  muttering  about  in  the  morning. 
But  all  night  it  blew  and  blew  and  blew!  And 
this  morning  the  snow  was  all  slushy  with  little 
rivulets  everywhere,  and  the  creek  was  a  raging, 
untamed,  irresponsible  rive — 

Two  o'clock. 
Well,  I  got  just  that  far,  because  I  have  n't 
an  earthly  thing  to  do  except  to  write  you  this 
long  spiel,  when  over  the  rush  of  the  wind  and 
the  roar  in  the  trees  and  the  thunder  of  the  wa- 
ter, I  heard  a  fearful  crash.  Everything  in  the 
cabin  shuddered  and  shook.  You  can  see  the 
blot  of  ink.  I  thought  of  an  earthquake,  but 
there  was  n't  any  more  shaking,  so  then  I  looked 
out.  What  do  you  think?  The  fir  nearest  my 
cabin,  but  almost  on  the  creek  edge,  had  fallen 

[  224] 


Christmas 


down — blown  down  by  the  wind,  I  guess,  the 
things  are  so  shallow  rooted — and  the  branches 
clear  at  the  tip  edge  landed  across  our  tree 
bridge!  Maybe  it  didn't  jar  that  bridge!  I 
would  n't  dare  cross  it  now  even  if  the  Widdy 
were  here.  And  the  water  is  rising  in  the  creek 
bed  and  just  whirling  down. 

I  wonder  if  there's  any  danger  of  a  flood! 
I  wish  I  had  thought  to  ask  whether  it  ever 
does  overflow.  But  yet,  I  believe  Mr.  Goss 
would  have  warned  me  if  there  was.  Jack 
Burnham  might  have  forgotten  it,  or  not  wanted 
to  frighten  me,  but  I  believe  Mr.  Goss  would 
have  told  me  straight  out.  He  's  not  so  sensi- 
tive about  hurting  people's  feelings — only  I 
would  n't  care  much  about  the  feelings,  if  I  just 
knew  I  was  safe.  I  don't  believe  the  water  can 
touch  me,  because  I  am  on  higher  land,  yet  I 
do  feel  worried.  It 's  dark  and  gray  outside 
and  the  snow  is  still  melting,  and  what  will  hap- 
pen before  to-morrow  morning,  /  don't  know. 

Just  the  same,  Jane  will  hang  up  her  stock- 
ing at  the  chimney  place  and  set  out  the  presents 
she  has  made  for  herself  and  have  a  sure-enough 
Christmas,   even   alone.     I  have  baked  a  plum 

[225  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

pudding  this  week,  and  I  shall  have  hot  rolls, 
and  salt  mackerel  for  breakfast,  and  some 
smoked  venison  for  dinner,  and  maybe  a  chafing 
dish  omelet  for  supper.  I  saw  such  a  good 
definition  of  a  chafing  dish  the  other  day — a 
frying  pan  that 's  got  into  society.  You  see,  all 
my  Christmas  presents, — and  I  suppose  I  have 
some — are  at  Illahee.  The  Widdy's  son-in-law 
brought  out  no  mail  when  he  came  because  she 
was  going  back  and  he  forgot  me!  I  am  go- 
ing to  spend  the  day  making  a  taboret.  Thank 
goodness  I  like  to  hammer  and  nail  and  pound! 
I  inherited  that  taste  from  my  father.  And  I 
have  his  liking  for  whittling,  too.  Mother 
used  to  tell  me  about  him. 

Do  you  know,  I  can't  make  up  my  mind 
whether  this  sort  of  a  life  makes  a  woman 
strong-minded  or  weak-minded — one  never 
hears  of  anything  in  between.  We  learn  to  be 
so  mighty  independent,  and  yet  when  you  run 
up  against  the  elemental  forces  of  primitive  na- 
ture, as  one  does  in  the  forest  here, — men  are, 
well, — conveniences,  anyway.  And  I  am  be- 
ginning to  understand  why  past  generations 
were  perfectly  willing  to  accept  merely  a  wom- 

[226] 


Christmas 


an's  privileges  and  let  the  men  have  all  the 
rights.  I  don't  believe  I  ever  was  very  strong 
on  woman's  rights,  anyway,  but  I  'm  beginning 
to  get  another  view  of  things  from  that  seen  by 
city  women. 

There  is  n't  one  bit  of  fun  in  this  letter,  Hope, 
but  I  can't  seem  to  be  jolly  to-day.  The  Widdy 
told  me  once  that  the  way  to  cure  a  boy  of  home- 
sickness was  to  put  salt  in  the  hem  of  his  trousers 
and  make  him  look  up  the  chimney.  If  I  only 
had  those  overalls  you  preach  about!  But  I 
should  scandalize  all  right  thinking  people,  I 
am  sure,  if  I  were  to  regard  my  gym  suit  as 
trousers  and  they're  the  nearest  thing  I  have. 
So  that  remedy  won't  work  with  me — and  I  for- 
got for  the  moment  I  was  n't  a  boy. 

I  read  an  odd  quotation  yesterday,  from  some 
old  Anglo-Saxon  source,  I  think.  "The  flood 
wave  and  the  swift  ebb  tide;  what  the  flood 
wave  brings  you  in,  the  ebb  sweeps  out  of  your 
hand."  What  does  it  mean?  Do  you  think  it 
means  that  as  soon  as  I  prove  up  on  this  claim — 
after  five  years  of  life  in  the  forest — that  some- 
thing, perhaps  a  forest  fire,  will  sweep  it  all 
away?     I  wish  I  had  n't  read  the  old  thing. 

[227] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Do  write  to  me  when  you  can.  I  need  let- 
ters. 

Affectionately, 

Jane. 

P.  S.  Don't  be  anxious  about  the  wrinkles 
on  your  cow's  horns.  They  are  not  caused  by 
worry. 

P.  S.  2.  I  had  n't  sealed  the  envelope,  so 
I  '11  add  this  note.  It 's  about  ten  o'clock,  and 
it's  a  fearful  night  outside.  The  rumble  and 
roar  and  crash  and  thunder  of  the  wind  and  wa- 
ter,— did  I  ever  tell  you  there  was  a  fifty-foot 
fall  about  six  hundred  feet  down  the  trail — and 
the  way  in  which  the  water  dashes  over  that, 
why,  I  can't  hear  myself  think,  even  on  bright 
days.  But  now!  The  tumult  outside  is  fear- 
f  <l,  and  every  once  in  a  while  there  is  a  sort  of 
crackling  sound,  and  the  cabin  shakes — trees 
going  down  in  the  wind,  I  suppose.  I  barred 
my  doors  and  windows  hours  ago,  but  I  can 
hear  the  rush  and  swish  of  the  rain  on  the  glass 
— my  shutters  are  inside  the  cabin,  are  yours? 
— and  the  wet  splashes  down  my  chimney  and 
hisses  in  the  fire.  It's  a  wild  night!  And  to- 
morrow 's  Christmas.     Goodness.     How  I  wish 

[228] 


Christmas 


you  were  here — you,  or  the  Widdy,  or  Jack 
Burnham,  or  even  Mr.  Goss.  Just  anybody  for 
company! 

Letter  from  Jane  Myers  to  Hope  Denham. 

Dear  Hope: 

I  wrote  you  a  letter  the  day  before  Christ- 
mas and  sealed  it,  but  it 's  still  on  the  shelf  over 
the  fireplace.  Mr.  Goss  is  asleep  over  in  the 
Widdy's  cabin  and  so  I  '11  write  you  the  rest 
of  the  story  of  the  flood.  The  excitement 's  all 
over  now. 

Christmas  morning, — I  did  n't  get  much 
sleep  that  night,  I  can  promise  you, — I  got  up 
early.  And  why  in  the  world  I  did  it,  I  don't 
know,  but  I  put  on  my  gym  suit.  Even  now 
I  could  n't  tell  you  why.  But  all  night  there 
had  been  that  roar  and  crash  and  thunder  of 
wind  and  water,  and  the  beating  of  the  rain  on 
the  window  pane,  and  every  now  and  then  the 
shaking  of  the  cabin  and  that  cracking  sound — 
sometimes  fairly  near  and  again  very  faint, — 
and  I  was  so  thankful  that  Mr.  Goss  had  made 
the  men  cut  that  tree  down — the  big  Douglas 
fir,  I  mean.     I  am  sure  it  would  have  crashed 

[  229  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

in  on  my  cabin  last  night.  Would  n't  you 
think  trees  two  hundred  feet  high  would  have 
more  than  six  or  eight  feet  of  shallow,  spread- 
ing roots? 

But  to  go  back,  as  I  began  to  put  on  my  high 
shoes,  just  a  minute  after  a  hard  shake  of  the 
cabin,  I  noticed  a  little  damp  spot  on  the  north 
side.  By  the  time  I  had  brushed  my  hair  and 
was  really  dressed,  I  just  happened  to  look 
again,  and,  it  was  much  larger.  I  opened  the 
door  and  the  roar  of  the  water  was  enough  to 
frighten  one  out  of  their  senses,  and  the  water 
seemed  to  be  all  around  the  cabin.  But  the 
wind  had  died  down.  I  walked  right  into  the 
water  and  around  the  corner — and  sure  enough, 
there  was  a  regular  stream  of  water  coming 
down  the  trail  from  the  pond  above,  and  dash- 
ing right  against  my  cabin.  I  could  n't  see  why 
because  the  creek  did  n't  seem  to  have  over- 
flowed, in  spite  of  the  fir  tree  that  fell  against 
the  bridge.  I  got  a  spade  out,  and  went  up 
above  the  house  and  set  to  work  to  see  if  I  could 
dig  a  trench  that  would  divert  the  water.  That 
seemed  to  be  the  only  thing  to  do.  The  stream 
was  n't  so  very  big  or  strong,  yet,  but  I  did  n't 

[230] 


Christmas 


know  what  it  might  grow  to  be,  and  I  did  n't 
want  my  cabin  washed  away. 

Well,  I  dug  and  I  dug  and  I  dug!  And 
nothing  I  could  do  seemed  to  make  any  im- 
pression. If  I  'd  been  a  man,  as  I  looked  at  that 
dancing  water,  swirling  around  my  ankles,  I  'd 
have  said — "Pshaw/"  Being  a  woman  I  did  n't. 
I  looked  pensive  and  murmured  "Oh,  sugar!" 

But  joking  aside,  here  I  was,  twenty  miles 
from  anybody — even  the  squatter,  I  guess — 
with  floods  all  around  me,  fallen  trees,  as  I  well 
knew  after  that  wind ,  barring  the  trail  to 
Illahee,  and  my  house  in  danger  of  being 
washed  away — and  nobody  to  rescue  me.  And 
yet,  in  spite  of  all  that  danger,  I  remembered 
a  funny  picture  in  "Life"  about  being  "up  in 
arms  against  a  man" — and  that  was  exactly 
where  I  longed  to  be.     But  me  for  the  spade. 

Well,  I  worked  hours  and  hours,  and  it 
seemed  like  weeks,  and  suddenly  a  voice  said, 
"Good  heavens!"  I  wasn't  even  sure  I  heard 
it.  I  thought  I  must  be  losing  my  senses.  And 
then  somebody  caught  me,  or  my  arm — caught 
hold  of  me  somewhere — and  said,  "Go  right 
into  your  cabin — I  '11  look  after  this."     But  I 

[231  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

did  n't  go — I  could  n't.  I  was  "up  in  arms"  for 
a  minute,  and  I  did  n't  care  a  rap  who  the  man 
was — though  I  thought  I  knew.  Then  I  began 
to  cry.  I  guess  I  'm  weak-minded,  all  right. 
But  he  got  me  into  the  cabin,  and  put  a  few 
chips  on  the  fire — it  was  nearly  out — and  said 
very  abruptly,  "Change  your  clothes  at  once — 
and  make  me  some  coffee!"  That  brought  me 
to.  I  remembered  afterwards  that  I  had  n't 
had  any  breakfast. 

I  started  the  kitchen  stove  right  away  and  put 
on  the  kettle  and  put  some  logs  on  the  fire- 
place— I  was  so  wet  and  cold — and  changed 
into  my  short  khaki  skirt  and  put  on  my  slip- 
pers— and  then  the  coffee  was  ready.  I  opened 
the  north  window  and  called  to  him  to  come  in 
— it  was  Mr.  Goss,  I  forgot  to  say — but  he 
would  n't  come.  He  made  me  hand  the  coffee 
out  of  the  window  to  him — just  two  big  cups- 
f  ul  and  went  on  digging  with  a  kind  of  set  look 
in  his  face.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  stream 
was  bigger  and  I  know  the  wet  spot  inside  was 
wetter.  I  don't  know  how  long  he  worked — we 
lost  all  track  of  time,  but  every  once  in  a  while 
I  would  give  him  a  big  cup  of  hot  coffee,  and 

[  232  ] 


Christmas 


by  and  by  I  saw  he  had  got  a  trench  so  that  the 
water  ran  off  sidewise  and  down  past  the  end  of 
the  cabin.  But  my  whole  floor  was  wet  by  that 
time.  Then  I  made  him  come  in  and  get  some- 
thing to  eat.  And  do  you  know,  it  was  after 
three  o'clock!  His  face  looked  so  set  and  stern 
and  he  was  so  silent,  I  could  n't  make  anything 
out  of  him. 

After  he  got  something  to  eat  and  a  little 
warmed  up,  he  took  the  ax  and  went  upstream. 
He  said  some  tree  must  have  fallen  in  farther  up 
stream  and  diverted  the  water  of  the  creek  from 
the  channel.  He  was  gone  about  two  hours, 
and  when  he  came  back  he  was  wet  and  tired 
and  as  white  as  a  ghost.  It  was  a  small  tree 
that  had  been  washed  out  by  the  water  and  a  lot 
of  bushes  and  they  had  caught  in  such  a  way  as 
to  force  the  water  out  of  the  creek.  There  's 
hardly  any  water  coming  down  over  the  land 
now.  Then  he  went  out  to  look  at  the  tree 
bridge  and  the  big  fir  that  had  fallen  against  it. 
If  any  more  trees  come  down  there  's  going  to 
be  a  regular  jam  right  at  the  cabin  and  then 
there  will  be  a  flood! 

But  it  was  too  late  and  too  dark  to  do  anything 
[233  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

there.  I  went  out  with  him,  against  his  will, 
and  held  the  lantern  for  him.  The  bridge 
looks  safe,  though  it's  jarred  considerably. 

Then  we  went  back  to  the  cabin,  and  I  cooked 
him  another  meal,  and  we  had  a  roaring  fire  at 
the  fireplace, — but  he  was  so  silent  1  I  won- 
dered then  where  he  had  dropped  from.  But 
right  after  supper — he  would  n't  talk  at  all — 
he  told  me  to  put  the  lantern  in  good  condition 
and  if  anything  went  wrong  in  the  night,  to 
wrap  a  piece  of  red  cloth  around  it,  and  set  it 
in  the  window.  Then  he  would  come  right 
over.  He  asked  for  the  key  to  the  Widdy's 
cabin,  and  started  off.  But  just  before  he  went 
out  of  the  door,  he  said,  "Well,  little  girl,  I  guess 
you  're  safe  for  to-night  anyway.  But  if  any- 
thing does  go  wrong,  remember  the  lantern." 
And  then  he  was  gone.  I  promise  you  I 
watched  him  while  he  climbed  over  the  tree 
bridge,  with  that  other  tree  resting  on  it. 
When  he  got  to  the  Widdy's  cabin  he  waved  his 
lantern  that  everything  was  all  right  and  then 
I  went  in. 

And  that  was  the  way  we  spent  our  Christmas 
Day.  Oh,  I  forgot  one  thing.  I  had  hung  up 
'      [ 234  ] 


Christmas 


my  stocking  on  the  chimney  the  night  before, 
and  last  night  at  supper  I  noticed  him  staring 
with  a  puzzled  expression  at  something  in  the 
corner  of  the  chimney,  and — there  was  my  old 
stocking!  I  jumped  for  it  and  then  he  laughed 
— not  very  much,  but  a  little  chuckling  laugh. 
And  every  time  he  looked  at  the  chimney  corner, 
he  laughed  again. 

The  next  day,  he  tackled  that  tree  on  the 
bridge.  It  was  a  dangerous  piece  of  work,  I 
should  think,  from  the  care  with  which  he 
chopped,  and  the  set  expression  of  his  face. 
But  he  said  it  had  to  be  cut  or  the  spring  floods 
would  surely  be  "disastrous."  I  don't  know 
whether  he  meant  to  me  or  the  bridge.  It  took 
him  all  day.  The  upper  part  of  the  tree  had 
caught  on  the  bridge,  and  he  had  to  chop  off  the 
branches,  and  then  chop  off  the  end  of  the  tree, 
and  when  the  end  fell  into  the  stream  with  a 
splash  and  the  water  flew  high,  the  bridge  jarred 
and  shook  until  I  thought  it  would  go  and  take 
him  with  it.  But  he  sprang  back  onto  the  bank, 
and  the  bridge  did  n't  go  down.  It  slants, 
awfully,  though.  Then  the  trunk  of  the  tree, 
without  its  top,  was  in  the  water,  but  the  roots 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

were  on  the  land — great  shallow,  spreading 
roots,  no  protection  at  all  to  a  tree.  So  he  cut 
the  tree  again,  about  ten  feet  above  the  roots, 
and  when  that  broke  loose,  it  went  floating  down 
stream  twisting  and  turning  in  the  tumbling 
waters,  and  I  hope  it  went  over  the  falls.  The 
old  roots  are  still  on  the  bank.  That  took  all 
day. 

I  spent  all  my  time  that  day,  when  I  was  n't 
out  watching  him,  cooking — and  I  gave  him 
three  good  meals.  And  he  appreciated  them, 
too.  That  second  evening  he  quite  thawed  out, 
and  sometimes  he  paced  up  and  down  the  cabin, 
and  sometimes  he  'd  stand  in  front  of  the  fire- 
place and  look  down  at  me — he  has  wonderfully 
pleasant  eyes.  He  does  n't  need  to  talk  much — 
his  eyes  do  it  for  him, — and  we  talked  about 
everything  in  creation.  I  did,  that  is;  he  lis- 
tened. Really,  he  's  the  nicest  man.  Oh,  that 
does  n't  express  it.  He 's  quiet,  really  silent, 
but  some  way  you  feel  his  strength  and  his 
ability. 

Well,  the  next  day,  he  took  the  ax  and  went 
upstream.  The  creek  was  higher  than  ever, 
but  the  warm  wind  had  ceased  blowing  alto- 

[236] 


Christmas 


gether  and  there  was  a  distinct  chill  in  the  air. 
I  think  it'll  get  colder  now.  But  everything 
is  wet  and  drenched  and  I  wanted  to  go  with 
him.  At  first  he  said  no,  and  then  when  I  said 
how  much  I  was  shut  up  in  the  cabin, — and  per- 
haps it  might  snow  again — he  said,  oh,  yes. 
Come  with  him.  He  would  be  glad  to  have  me. 
And  there  was  the  strangest  look  in  his  eyes — 
as  though  he  was  sorry  for  me!  Sorry  about 
what?  And  when  he  helped  me  over  some  of 
the  old  logs  and  bumpy  places,  he  helped  me 
with  such  real  gentleness,  as  though  he  were 
still  sorry  for  me.  That 's  the  only  meaning  I 
can  read  into  it;  and  I  can't  understand  him  a 
bit.  He  cleared  out  a  lot  of  snags  and  bushes 
from  the  upper  creek  and  he  complimented  me 
on  my  trail-making  too.  Said  I  had  done  a 
good  piece  of  work.  And  tonight  we  sat  here 
and  talked  as  if  we  were  the  oldest  friends  and 
had  known  each  other  all  our  lives.  I  think 
it 's  so  strange  I  ever  felt  afraid  of  him.  He  's 
gone  over  to  the  Widdy's  now  and  it 's  high  time 
I  went  to  bed  but  to-morrow  he  's  going  down  to 
Illahee  and  I  wanted  to  send  the  letters  with 
him. 

[237] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

When  I  tried  to  tell  him  how  grateful  I  felt, 
he  just  smiled  and  said  something  I  did  n't  catch. 
But  he  's  been  so  good  to  me.  And  you  know, 
Hope,  a  woman  is  n't  very  attractive  when 
she  's  in  a  wet  gym  suit,  standing  ankle  deep  in 
water,  digging  a  trench,  and  thinking — er — 
thinking  short,  explosive  thoughts.  And  even 
since  then — well,  when  I  went  upstream  with 
him  to-day  in  my  gym  suit,  I  think  I  looked  like 
a  warmed-over  icicle.  I  Ve  lost  all  sense  of 
propriety.  I  'd  have  gone  upstream  in  trou- 
sers, overalls,  or  a  harem  skirt — though  I  'd  have 
preferred  the  trousers  to  the  harem — but  any- 
thing, anything  except  regulation  skirts  in  a  for- 
est like  this. 

I  tried  to  make  him  tell  me  to-night  where  he 
dropped  from.  All  I  could  find  out  was  that 
he  'd  been  clear  up  in  the  upper  end  of  the  dis- 
trict— or  perhaps  the  next — he  would  n't  tell 
much — and  found  a  sick  miner  there  so  he 
stayed  and  took  care  of  him  for  a  while,  and 
then  had  to  look  after  some  sheep  matters,  or 
some  measurements  for  sheep  ranchers  next 
spring,  and  so  got  caught  by  the  snow  and  then 
the  Chinook.     He  was  clear  of!  somewhere — 

[238] 


Christmas 


twenty  miles  away,  perhaps,  because  the  flood- 
ing of  the  streams  forced  him  to  make  so  many 
detours,  when  he  decided  to  come  over  here.  I 
wonder  if  that  blessed  man  came  that  twenty 
miles  just  to  look  after  the  Widdy  and  myself! 
He  said  something  about  all  the  homesteaders 
being  under  his  care — and  merely  a  case  of 
duty.  But  we  got  so  well  acquainted!  And  it 
was  lots  of  fun  cooking  for  him  for  the  three 
days  he  has  been  here — he  ate  as  if  he  was 
starved.  It  was  almost  like  housekeeping — 
with  one  boarder — and  I  am  glad  I  revived  my 
cooking  knowledge.  I  used  all  my  nice  china 
for  him,  too.  He  must  get  terribly  tired  of 
ironstone  and  enameled  ware. 

That 's  all  this  time.  But  I  don't  want  any 
more  experiences  of  that  nature.  Excitement 
is  all  right,  but  next  time  give  me  a  different 
type,  please.  This  is  a  long  yarn,  but  I  Ve 
nothing  to  do  but  write  letters. 

Affectionately, 
Jane. 

P.  S.  I  wonder  if  Jack  Burnham  would 
ride  twenty  miles  in  flood  and  rain  and  wind  to 
see   if  we  were   all   right.     I  wish   I   hadn't 

[  239] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

looked  so  badly.  Well,  if  I  looked  like  a  stewed 
icicle,  he  looked  like  a  clothes  brush.  He 
had  n't  shaved  for  a  week,  and  with  his  rough 
trousers  tucked  in  boots,  and  flannel  shirt  with 
black  tie — well,  as  he  dug  that  trench 
and  chopped  those  trees,  he  did  n't  look  like  a 
society  man.  So  he  need  n't  criticise  my  ap- 
pearance. I  wonder  why  that  girl  jilted  him — 
the  one,  I  mean,  that  I  think  must  have  jilted 
him.  I  did  find  out  that  he  's  a  graduate  of  a 
forestry  school  and  has  a  sister  who  likes  society 
and  does  n't  like  the  forests  and  he  just  loves  the 
open,  and  so  they  don't  understand  each  other. 
Also  he  has  been  abroad  for  one  summer — 
studying  the  forests  of  Germany. 

P.  S.  2.  Oh,  yes,  I  almost  forgot  to  tell  you 
that  he  stacked  up  my  wood  pile  clear  to  the 
ceiling  and  filled  every  particle  of  space  with 
chips  and  small  bits  of  wood  that  would  do  to 
start  a  fire.  Why,  my  cabin  looks  like  a  wood- 
shed! But  he  seemed  to  like  doing  it,  and  I 
thought  perhaps  he  wanted  some  excuse  to  stay 
until  he  was  sure  the  flood  was  really  over,  so 
I    did  n't   object.     But    it   was    not   necessary. 

[  240] 


Christmas 


And  he  asked  me  about  a  dozen  times  if  I  had 
plenty  of  matches.     I  wonder  why. 
Well,  I  'm  going  to  bed  now. 

J.  M. 

With  all  her  perception,  Jane  Myers  had 
failed  lamentably  in  discovering  several  things 
about  the  strong,  quiet  man  who  had  saved  her 
so  opportunely.  Goss  made  light  of  the  dan- 
ger, though  admitting  that  many  more  trees  in 
the  creek  bed  would  have  made  serious  trouble, 
but  he  gave  her  no  inkling  of  the  journey  he 
himself  had  made  to  assure  himself  of  her 
safety.  Thirty  miles  away  he  had  been,  not 
twenty,  owing  to  the  rise  of  the  mountain  tor- 
rents ;  and  the  fallen  trees  and  snow  had  made 
every  foot  of  it  a  source  of  danger.  By  a 
straight  line  it  was  only  ten  miles — but  the 
bridgeless  Illahee  river  flowed  between.  He 
had  not  told  her  that.  So  thirty  miles  the 
weary  horse  had  carried  him  to  the  cabin  to  find 
a  white-faced  girl  struggling  with  woman's 
slight  strength  against  the  rising  flood  of  waters 
which  threatened  the  foundations  of  her  cabin. 

[241] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

And  another  part  of  the  story  Jane  could  not 
write  because  the  letters  were  in  his  pocket  when 
it  happened. 

It  was  just  as  he  was  leaving.  Colder 
weather  had  set  in  and  the  air  was  raw  and 
frosty.  There  would  be  no  new  thaw  until 
spring  came.  Dick,  saddled  and  bridled,  was 
tied  to  a  tree  near  by,  when  Goss  stopped  to  say 
good-by.  There  swept  over  him  as  there  did 
at  that  moment  over  Jane,  a  sudden  sense  of  the 
desolation  of  the  forest  in  winter — of  the  loneli- 
ness and  danger  of  homesteading. 

"My  dear  little  girl,"  he  said  suddenly,  as  he 
bent  over  her  and  grasped  both  her  hands  in 
his,  "why  in  the  world  are  you  out  here  home- 
steading?" 

And  Jane,  with  pink  cheeks,  had  answered, 
"Why,  because—" 

"That 's  a  woman's  reason.     Because — why?" 

"Why— because— " 

Why  had  she  come?  Every  reason  she  ever 
had  vanished  from  mind.  Every  argument 
which  had  flattened  out  Bert  Fairfax's  objec- 
tions, every  one  she  had  ever  written  to  her 

[242  ] 


Christmas 


friends,  or  used  in  moments  of  doubt  upon  her- 
self— every  one   of   them  vanished.     "Because 
— "  was  the  only  one  left. 
_  Those  searching  gray  eyes  confused  her. 

"Oh,  it 's  going  to  be  all  right,  now,"  she  said 
after  that  embarrassing  moment,  with  forced 
gayety.  "You  see  it's  the  first  of  January  al- 
most, and  that  means  that  the  winter  is  practi- 
cally over.  I  always  count  spring  as  beginning 
with  the  first  of  January." 

"It  does  begin  about  the  first  or  middle  of 
February  on  Puget  Sound  or  along  the  coast — 
at  Seattle,  for  instance, — but  not  here  in  the 
mountains." 

"But  spring  will  be  here  by  the  first  of  March, 
anyway.  That's  only  two  months.  I  shall 
check  off  every  day  on  the  calendar — you  '11  see 
when  you  come  again." 

"But  I  may  not  be  up  here  again  for  a  month 
or  six  weeks.  I  may  have  to  go  to  the  city  for 
a  while.  And  you — why  you  have  all  winter 
before  you!  But  anyway,  you  have  plenty  of 
wood.  Use  it  rather  sparingly  in  mild  weather, 
Miss  Myers." 

[243  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"Yes,  of  course, — but  spring — " 

"And  you  have  plenty  of  matches?"  he  asked 
for  the  tenth  time. 

"Oh,  yes;  plenty.  And  spring  will  soon  be 
here." 

"I  hope  so."  He  spoke  so  gravely.  And 
still  that  searching  look  into  her  face!  But  the 
thing  which  puzzled  Jane  was  not  the  kindness 
of  the  eyes,  but  the  pity  in  them.  The  inter- 
pretation came  to  her  later. 

And  then  he  was  off,  with  Dick  cantering 
down  the  slope,  and  the  rush  and  roar  of  the 
creek  drowning  out  anything  he  might  call  back. 
But  he  did  n't  call.  He  only  turned  in  his 
saddle  as  he  came  under  the  tall  trees  and  waved 
his  hand  to  her,  while  his  experienced  eyes  took 
in,  at  a  glance,  the  beauty  and  danger  of  the 
cabin  among  the  tall  fir  trees  amid  the  snows, 
its  single  occupant's  only  companions  the  wild 
beasts  of  the  forest. 


[244] 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  TERROR  OF  THE  FOREST 
Letter  from  Jane  Myers  to  Hope  Denham. 

February  10. 
Dear  Hope: 

I  thought  I  fully  realized  after  the  flood  the 
difference  between  camping  out  in  the  woods 
for  fun  in  summer  and  taking  up  a  homestead. 
But  the  information  is  being  rubbed  in. 

I  'm  all  alone  again.  The  Widdy  has  gone  to 
Illahee  because  Sammy  has  something  or  other. 
I  don't  believe  there  is  any  chance  of  another 
flood,  but  whatever  happens  this  time,  I  guess  I 
will  need  to  sink  or  swim  alone  because  I  know 
both  Mr.  Goss  and  Mr.  Burnham  are  on  the 
Sound — and  that's  a  hundred  miles  or  more 
away.  I  don't  know  just  how  far  it  is  by  the 
railroad.  I  've  hardly  stepped  out  of  my 
cabin  since  I  was  so  frightened  by  that  cougar. 
The  Widdy  is  n't  a  bit  of  company.  Besides 
being  so  superstitious,  she  seldom  invites  me 

[245] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

over  there  and  never  wants  to  come  over  and 
take  a  meal  with  me  and  she  goes  into  the  town 
so  often  to  look  after  her  grandchildren  or  her 
daughter  that  really  she  is  n't  a  bit  of  company. 

This  time  her  son-in-law,  Pat,  came  over  here 
as  they  started  off,  and  asked  me  if  I  wanted  to 
go  in.  It  meant  staying  in  that  stuffy  little 
hotel,  but  still  I  said,  "yes."  But  how  was  I  to 
go?  Pat  told  me  to  put  on  my  snowshoes.  He 
had  his  on.  The  Widdy  rode  the  pony  and  the 
pony  had  snowshoes  on.  Dempsey  looked  so 
odd.  But  when  I  started  for  mine,  I  remem- 
bered one  had  been  left  under  the  snow,  in  my 
fright,  and  the  straps  of  the  other  were  cut — 
but  then  one  would  n't  do  any  good.  Pat  said, 
"Stay  here,  then.  I  can't  wait  for  ye."  He  is 
so  rough.  I  don't  wonder  his  mother-in-law 
prefers  living  alone  on  a  homestead  in  the 
woods.  So  off  they  went — and  that  was  some 
ten  days  ago. 

I  'm  afraid  to  go  out  of  doors.  I  get  water 
now  from  the  snow  which  heaps  up  in  that 
funny  little  extension  that  everybody  laughed 
at,  but  it 's  worth  everything  to  me  this  winter. 
If  any  wild  animal  did  spring  at  me,  the  screen 

[246] 


The  Terror  of  the  Forest 


would  give  me  a  chance  to  get  into  the  cabin 
again. 

But  it  is  lonely  here.  The  snow  has  banked 
up  my  north  window  entirely.  I  closed  the 
shutter  to  keep  out  that  cold,  greenish  pile  of 
white.  On  the  south  side  the  snow  has  come  up 
above  the  lower  level  of  the  sill.  I  imagine 
that  one  could  walk  right  onto  my  roof  from  the 
ground  at  the  north  side  and  not  know  they  had 
left  solid  earth.  But  you  can  imagine  it  is  hard 
for  me  to  amuse  myself.  I  have  nearly  worn 
out  my  cookbook  for  ordinary  dishes  and  when 
I  want  to  make  anything  unusual  as  an  experi- 
ment I  find  I  lack  some  ingredient.  But  I  am 
cooking  as  much  as  I  can  and  making  believe 
I  will  be  rescued  again  though  I  should  prefer 
not  to  repeat  that  experience.  I  can't  do  em- 
broidery because  the  light  is  so  dim;  I  have 
read  until  I  am  tired,  and  I  have  mended  all 
my  clothes — first  time  in  my  life  such  a  thing 
ever  happened — and  besides  all  that,  I  made 
myself  a  new  flannel  shirtwaist.  I  usually  sit 
between  the  fireplace  and  the  window.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  fireplace  is  my  wood.  I  am  so 
glad  Mr.  Goss  filled  up  everything  with  wood 

[247] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

for  I  don't  know  what  would  happen  if  I  should 
run  out  of  it.  I  let  both  fires  go  out  every  night 
so  as  to  save  as  much  as  I  can,  but  it  does  take 
a  lot  of  matches.  However,  I  have  two  boxes 
left  and  that  will  carry  me  through  I  am  sure 
— two  of  these  big  boxes  of  parlor  matches,  I 
mean. 

So  for  lack  of  anything  else  to  do,  I  decided 
to  write  something.  First  I  tried  poetry  but  the 
muse  did  n't  seem  to  respond.  I  was  working 
away  at  the  poetry  when  this  conundrum  came 
into  my  head:  What  is  the  difference  between 
a  shoemaker  and  a  poet?  Do  you  know  the  an- 
swer: one  makes  shoes  and  the  other  shakes  the 
muse. 

I  Ve  given  up  the  idea  of  poetry.  Then  I 
tried  a  story.  It  is  just  started,  but  the  char- 
acters will  not  do  what  I  want  them  to.  They 
are  about  as  stubborn  as  if  they  were  real  people. 
Perhaps  I  shall  try  a  bit  of  biography.  The 
difficulty  there  is  in  saying  true  things  about 
people.  If  you  write  it  after  they  are  dead, 
then  it's  biography;  if  they're  still  alive,  it  is 
slander;  but  if  you  say  it  on  the  front  porch,  then 
it 's  gossip.     So  I  guess  I  '11  stick  to  my  story. 

[248] 


The  Terror  of  the  Forest 


Do  you  know  anything  about  copyrighting? 
What  do  you  do  when  you  copyright  a  story? 
Just  what  do  you  copyright,  I  mean?  Is  it  the 
title,  or  the  story,  or  the  people  and  things  in 
the  story?  For  instance,  suppose  Jonah  had 
written  that  story  about  himself  and  the  whale 
— autobiography,  you  understand — and  had 
copyrighted  it.  Would  his  copyright  have  cov- 
ered the  whale?  Not  literally,  I  mean,  but  could 
anybody  else  have  written  a  story  about  that 
very  same  whale?  Or  would  it  have  copy- 
righted Jonah  himself,  or  just  his  name? 
Could  anybody  have  written  about  Jonah  if  he 
had  copyrighted  himself?  I  'm  all  mixed  up 
about  it.  Of  course,  in  writing  my  story  I 
would  n't  want  to  infringe  anybody  else's 
patent.     So  I  'm  thinking  that  over. 

Another  thing  I  thought  of  was  one  of  those 
prize  stories  on  something  very  moral — like 
"Books  which  have  influenced  me  most."  The 
"Ladies  Home  Journal"  must  pay  out  bushels 
of  money  for  that  sort  of  thing — and  I  think 
my  ideas  are  as  good  as  anybody  else's.  But  this 
evening  since  I  got  to  thinking  over  the  influ- 
ence of  certain  books  on  my  life — Shakespeare, 

[249] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

the  Bible,  Browning,  because  I  'd  have  to  in- 
clude those  three  anyway, — and  then  Carlyle! 
I  ought  to  mention  him  and  Gibbon  in  order  to 
make  any  sort  of  a  showing,  and  Louise  Alcott — 
it  suddenly  dawned  on  me  that  the  one  book 
which  had  most  influenced  me  was  my  check 
book.  Of  course!  Why  am  I  out  here  in  the 
wilderness,  facing  floods,  and  tall,  gray-eyed 
men  who  looked  at  me  pityingly — and  chum- 
ming with  black-eyed  ones  who  quote  poetry  to 
me — though  there  's  only  one  of  each,  of  course, 
— and  why  am  I  having  to  write  an  article  for 
the  "Ladies  Home  Journal"  in  order  to  amuse 
myself  if  it  was  n't  because  of  my  check  book? 
Check  book  made  me  teach — and  you,  too, — 
and  neither  Shakespeare  nor  Browning  could  in- 
fluence either  of  us  to  that  extent.  But  of 
course  it 's  all  up  with  the  prize  story.  They  M 
never  accept  anything  so  mercenary  as  that. 
No ;  that  would  be  a  waste  of  time. 

So  I  believe  the  story — I  think  I  must  be 
nervous  to-night.  I  seem  to  be  as  hard  to  com- 
pose as  a  good  comic  opera.  For  the  last  hour 
I  have  heard  off  and  on — something — I  don't 
know  what.     When  I  listen  there  is  nothing  but 

[250] 


The  Terror  of  the  Forest 


the  steady  tick,  tick,  tick,  of  the  clock  and  the 
light  crackling  of  the  fire.  The  snow  and  ice 
have  dulled  the  roar  of  the  creek,  yet  every  now 
and  then  there  's  a  queer  sound — somewhere — 
outside. 

But  about  my  story.  This  is  my  plot.  The 
author  of  my  story — not  myself,  because  it's 
about  an  author — is  publishing  it,  serially,  and 
the  public  object  to  a  certain  character  because 
he  is  too  rough,  even  for  a  diamond  in  the  rough 
which  is  what  he  is  supposed  to  be.  (There  's 
that  queer  little  sound  again.  What  can  it  be? 
Just  nerves,  perhaps.  I  think  it  must  be  the 
fire.)  So  the  author  takes  him  out  of  a  later 
chapter  long  enough  to  polish  him  up  a  bit,  and 
then  the  public  does  not  like  him  because  he  is 
not  true  to  his  own  character.  They  say  he  has 
lost  his  original  force  and  demand  the  old  rough 
char — 

Through  the  stillness  of  the  night  came  a 
wild,  unearthly  shriek.  Jane's  spring  almost 
overturned  the  lamp.  The  box  of  matches 
setting  on  the  table  went  flying  on  to  the  hearth- 
stones.    The  girl's   heart  stood  still.     All   the 

[251] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

blood  in  her  body  was  around  her  heart,  con- 
gealing there.     The  cry  had  been  so  close! 

Again  came  the  fearful  scream,  half  human 
yet  wholly  unearthly.  It  seemed  to  come  from 
the  fireplace, — or  the  roof.  Stepping  on  the 
matches  lying  on  the  hearthstone  she  glanced 
fearfully  toward  the  rafters,  hung  with  bacon, 
ham,  potatoes,  lard  pails,  and  unused -kitchen 
utensils.  Some  animal  must  have  crept  in  when 
she  left  her  cabin  door  open,  as  she  sometimes 
did.  Remembering  the  fear  of  wild  animals  of 
fire,  she  threw  on  two  fresh  logs  of  dry  wood. 
They  snapped  and  crackled.  Outside  in  the 
thick  black  forest  the  snow  was  falling  silently. 
Inside,  the  fresh  flames  threw  glancing  lights 
and  shadows  into  the  far  corners  of  the  cabin. 
They  gleamed  and  flickered  on  the  tin  dish  pan 
in  the  kitchen  corner  and  the  tin  pie  plates 
ranged  on  a  plate  rail  half  way  up  the  wall. 
In  the  increasing  heat  the  matches  blazed, 
spluttered  and  flickered  out,  or  burned  up. 
Jane  paid  no  attention  to  them.  Her  eyes  were 
rivetted  on  the  dark  corners  of  the  beams,  ex- 
pecting to  see  the  crouching  figure  of  some  wild 
animal. 

[  252  ] 


The  Terror  of  the  Forest 


Again  came  that  wild,  half-human  scream, 
this  time  nearer  and  clearer.  Not  three  feet 
away  it  sounded — and  with  nothing  in  between. 

There  was  a  slight  scratching  on  the  roof — 
then  a  harder  scratching.  Terrified  by  that  aw- 
ful cry,  the  faint  scratching  in  the  tense  silence 
sickened  her.  From  some  recess  in  her  mem- 
ory there  came  an  echo  back  to  her: 

"That  tree  's  no  more  likely  to  fall  on  my 
cabin  than  a  cougar  is  to  rip  off  the  shakes  and 
drop  in  some  night  when  I  'm  not  expecting 
callers." 

And  the  half-indifferent  reply: 

"That  might  happen,  too." 

Had  he  meant  it?  What  sort  of  claws  did  a 
cougar  have?  Jane  tried  to  think.  Again  the 
light  scratching.  The  cougar  had  come  close 
to  the  warm  chimney  and  was  burrowing 
through  the  snow  to  the  roof.  Could  a  cougar 
rip  off  the  shakes  and  get  down  into  the  cabin? 

The  chimney  was  large,  but  there  was  little 
fear  of  the  animal's  using  the  chimney  route  be- 
cause of  the  fire.  The  thought  of  firearms  did 
not  occur  to  her. 

She  sank  back  in  a  chair,  weak  and  faint. 
[253] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

She  was  there  alone.  Absolutely  alone  in  that 
wild,  lonely  forest  of  the  Illahee.  Her  cabin 
might  burn,  some  cougar  break  through  the 
roof,  or  the  wolves  attack  her,  if  they  got  a 
chance,  and  not  a  soul  in  all  the  world  would 
know  of  it.  No  one  would  be  there  to  protect 
her,  and  with  the  thought  of  protection  came  the 
memory  of  Goss's  face  as  he  asked  about  the 
wood  pile, — the  serious,  thoughtful  face  with 
the  kind  look  in  the  gray  eyes.  Yes,  he  knew 
it.  She  suddenly  understood.  He  must  have 
met  the  Terror  of  the  Forest.  That  was  why  he 
had  looked  at  her  pityingly.  And  if  he  were 
there,  it  would  be  all  right,  of  course.  No 
cougar  would  dare  attack  her  if  a  man  were 
there.  It  was  because  she  was  a  woman  and 
alone.  If  any  one  would  come — anybody! 
Just  as  Leonard  Goss  had  come  that  day  of  the 
floods.  If  a  cougar  should  break  through  the 
roof,  what  should  she  do? 

Again  the  memory  of  Goss  brought  back 
vague  commands.  Never  leave  your  cabin 
without  firearms — that  was  one  thing  he  had 
said.  Of  course!  She  had  forgotten  them. 
With  shaking  knees  she  walked  across  the  room, 

[254] 


The  Terror  of  the  Forest 


stepping  on  two  or  three  matches  and  noting 
their  light  flicker  as  she  picked  up  the  revolver. 
The  wild  yell  came  from  above  again.  The 
revolver  dropped  from  nerveless  fingers.  Then 
grasping  it,  she  returned  to  the  fireplace.  Two 
more  logs  of  wood  went  into  the  blaze.  She 
would  meet  the  danger  with  fire  and  with  fire- 
arms. No  cougar  should  eat  her  without  some 
risk. 

For  hours  she  sat  there,  waiting,  listening, 
every  muscle  tense  and  every  nerve  strained — 
listening — listening,  for  the  fall  of  a  heavy  body 
through  the  roof,  or  even  down  the  big  cat-and- 
clay  chimney. 

Again  and  again  through  the  peace  of  the 
night  came  that  ghastly  scream.  Jane  heard  it 
with  chattering  teeth  and  blood  that  ran  cold. 
Now  and  then,  in  the  heat,  the  sputter  of  a 
match  caught  her  attention.  She  only  watched 
to  see  they  did  not  set  fire  to  anything.  There 
was  little  danger,  though.  They  were  on  the 
hearthstone. 

Goss's  face  came  back  to  her  as  he  had 
grasped  her  hands  that  morning  when  he  left, 
after  he  had  saved  her  from  the  flood.     "My 

[255] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

dear  little  girl — "  What  was  it  he  had  said 
about  matches.  A  vague  fear,  aside  from  the 
cougar,  came  into  her  mind. 

"Are  you  sure  you  have  enough  matches?" 
That  was  what  he  had  said.  Yes,  she  had 
plenty.  There  was  a  box  on  the  table  and  an- 
other box  on  the  mantle.  She  had  more  than 
she  needed.  She  had  given  the  Widdy  a  full 
box  just  a  day  or  two  before  she  started  for  Illa- 
hee.     But  the  thought  of  matches  came  back. 

"Are  you  sure  you  have  enough  matches?" 
She  could  hear  Goss  say  the  words.  She  could 
see  the  pity  in  his  eyes  as  he  stood  there  and 
looked  down  upon  her.  "My  dear  little  girl — " 
She  looked  at  the  match  box  on  the  table — but 
it  was  not  there.  She  must  have  set  it  to  one 
side.  Listlessly  she  looked  at  the  tiny  charred 
sticks  lying  around  in  front  of  the  fire.  Those 
had  been  matches.  Thought  began  to  come 
back  to  her.  And  there  was  the  empty  box — on 
the  floor.  With  a  sudden  spring,  as  the  realiza- 
tion of  the  truth  came  over  her,  she  began  to 
search  the  hot  stones  for  unburned  matches. 
The  fire  scorched  her  face,  the  hot  bricks 
burned  her  skirt,  yet  she  could  find  but  two 

[256] 


The  Terror  of  the  Forest 


good  matches.  But  there  was  the  other  box  on 
the  mantle.  Confidently,  yet  fearfully,  she 
looked  into  it.  There  were  four  matches  in  the 
bottom — four  puny  little  sticks.  She  had  but 
six  matches,  and  perhaps  most  of  the  winter  still 
before  her! 

Only  twice  more  in  the  darkness  did  the 
cougar  scream,  yet  each  scream  seemed  nearer, 
a  triumphant,  exulting  note,  to  the  terrified  girl 
in  the  cabin. 

It  was  broad  daylight  in  the  outer  world, 
the  world  of  spruce  boughs  swaying  un- 
der their  weight  of  snow,  the  world  of  frozen 
streams  and  snow-blanketed  forests,  before  Jane 
dared  relax  her  vigilance  sufficiently  to  lie  down 
for  a  little  sleep.  Even  then  it  was  a  broken 
sleep,  though  the  tightly  barred  room  was  as 
dark  as  night.  No  letting  of  fires  out  now. 
Those  six  matches  might  have  to  do  for  months 
yet.  Perhaps  for  centuries.  It  would  be  cen- 
turies, of  course,  before  all  that  snow  melted. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  Jane,  aroused  by  a 
slight  flicker  in  the  dying  fire,  sprang  to  her 
feet  certain  that  the  cougar  had  come  down  the 
chimney  and  was  in  the  cabin.     Ten  o'clock  but 

[257] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

with  both  windows  and  the  door  barred,  it 
might  have  as  well  been  midnight.  The  animal 
was  not  there  as  she  reassured  herself  as  clearer 
thought  came  to  her,  because  if  it  were,  very 
likely  she  would  not  be — at  any  rate  not  whole 
and  sound. 

Carefully  she  stirred  the  dying  embers  until  a 
faint  flicker  rewarded  her.  Matches  were  to  be 
saved  for  absolute  necessity,  and  cooking  must 
be  done  now  before  the  open  fire  to  save  fuel. 

When  the  blaze  was  crackling  merrily,  and 
her  fears  somewhat  comforted  by  its  cheerful 
radiance,  she  went  to  the  south  window.  The 
north  one  for  days  she  had  not  opened,  as  she 
had  written  Hope.  It  had  snowed  during  the 
night  but  little,  yet  the  snow  lay  piled  up  two 
inches  above  the  sill.  It  was  clear  and  sunny 
outside,  and  she  could  see  the  snowy  crests  of  the 
forest  trees  against  the  keen  blue  of  the  winter 
sky.  The  world  was  very  beautiful  outside,  yet 
dangerous,  too,  for  there  fell  upon  her  ear 
the  distant,  long-drawn  cry  of  a  wolf.  Answer- 
ing cries  seemed  nearer,  and  sick  again  at  heart 
the  girl  turned  to  her  fire.  Absolutely  alone,  in 
that  terrible  forest, — for  it  was  no  longer  beauti- 

[258] 


The  Terror  of  the  Forest 


ful.  The  Terror  of  the  Forest  was  upon  her — 
the  horror  of  it  all. 

Well  enough  Jane  knew  the  meaning  of  the 
long-drawn  howl  of  the  wolf  calling  to  the  pack. 
The  deep  snow  had  driven  the  deer  down  to  the 
lower  levels  and  even  now  some  deer  leaping 
and  bounding  and  plunging  through  the  snow 
was  being  trailed  by  the  sharp-fanged,  gaunt 
timber-wolves. 

The  nights  were  full  of  horror  after  that,  for 
the  cougar's  scream  came  often  through  the 
darkness.  Nor  were  the  days  much  better  with 
the  far  cries  of  the  wolves  in  full  chase  after 
some  helpless  deer.  Only  to  have  known  that 
the  Widdy  was  in  the  cabin  across  the  creek 
would  have  been  an  immense  relief,  even  though 
with  cougars,  wolves,  and  the  ice  and  snow, 
neither  could  have  reached  the  other.  But  to 
be  alone! 

Evening  after  evening  as  she  sat  before  the 
fire,  her  mind  went  back  to  the  days  Goss  had 
spent  with  her  during  the  flood.  Again  and 
again  as  she  looked  up,  he  seemed  to  be  standing 
before  the  fireplace  looking  down  at  her  with 
that  expression  of  pity  in  his  eyes.     She  under- 

[259] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

stood  now — understood  altogether  too  well! 
He  had  urged  her,  as  strongly  as  he  could,  to 
come  into  town  for  the  winter  months,  but  re- 
membering the  hotel  there,  her  only  place  of 
refuge,  she  had  refused.  She  had  been  so  cer- 
tain that  spring  would  come  early.  It  always 
did  in  the  Northwest!  Then  when  he  had  sug- 
gested that  she  go  to  her  friends  at  Spokane 
at  least  until  the  middle  of  March,  she  had  an- 
swered proudly  that  she  came  out  to  take  up  a 
homestead  and  to  live  in  it,  not  to  run  away  dur- 
ing the  most  beautiful  months  of  the  year. 
And  he  had  admitted  that  the  winter  was  beauti- 
ful— but  dangerous,  too.  She  had  been  so  sure 
of  herself!     And  now! 

Jane  realized  that  her  only  salvation  lay  in 
keeping  herself  busy.  She  cooked  diligently, 
even  trying  entirely  new  dishes;  but  everything 
tasted  flat.  She  tried  to  read  serious  books — 
books  deliberately  saved  for  the  stormy  days  of 
winter  because  demanding  thought  and  concen- 
tration. She  could  not  get  the  meaning  of  a 
single  paragraph  through  her  head. 

She  picked  up  an  unopened  paper  one  after- 
noon with  a  sense  of  surprise.     It  had  slipped 

[260] 


The  Terror  of  the  Forest 


behind  the  table  and  lain  there  unnoticed.  The 
very  surprise  aroused  her,  and  she  was  deeply 
interested  in  it  when  a  sudden  shadow  falling  on 
the  square  of  sunlight  at  her  feet  made  her  look 
up.  With  his  nose  close  to  the  window  pane, 
licking  his  jaws,  stood  a  huge  gray  timber-wolf. 
Behind  him,  looking  in,  stood  two  others.  A 
single  leap  would  have  brought  all  three  through 
the  frail  sash  into  the  cabin  itself.  For  a  mo- 
ment Jane  was  frozen  to  her  chair;  then  with  a 
sudden  motion  threw  the  paper  toward  the  fire- 
place. It  was  too  feeble  a  throw,  and  only  the 
edge  touched  the  wood.  Would  it  burn? 
Dare  she  move?  The  wolves  licked  their  jaws. 
Then  a  sudden  blaze  as  the  paper  caught,  burn- 
ing out  on  the  hearth,  and  the  three  gaunt  figures 
stepped  back  in  fear  of  the  Red  Flower  of  the 
Forest!  It  was  her  one  chance.  With  a  spring 
the  girl  caught  the  heavy  inside  shutter  and 
flung  it  to,  barring  it  with  hands  that  shook  as 
she  expected  every  moment  to  feel  flung  against 
it  the  weight  of  the  forest  robbers.  It  was 
fastened  at  last — after  ages  of  fumbling, — and 
as  the  blaze  of  the  burning  paper  died  away 
the  plucky  girl  sank  into  the  nearest  chair. 

[261] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

How  long  after  that  it  was,  Jane  never  knew. 
She  had  lost  all  track  of  time,  and  seldom 
knew  whether  it  was  night  or  day  in  the  dark, 
closely-barred  cabin.  Centuries  it  seemed;  and 
at  times,  as  she  heard  the  familiar  shriek  of  the 
cougar  and  the  near  cry  of  the  wolf  pack  she 
wondered  whether  her  hair  were  growing  white. 
For  the  oil  was  very  low  in  the  can,  there  were 
but  four  matches  now,  and  the  wood  pile,  too, 
was  lessening.  The  world  outside  was  a  blank 
to  her. 

So  she  never  knew  that  the  snow  had  ceased, 
that  a  light  warm  wind  had  begun  the  spring 
thaw,  and  that  flood  time  was  near  again. 

It  was  years  and  years  after  Pat  and  Mrs. 
Patton  had  gone  into  Illahee  that  Jane  thought 
she  heard  one  morning  the  old,  familiar  yodel 
down  the  trail.  But  it  could  not  be.  It  was 
simply  that  she  was  losing  her  mind.  Think  of 
all  the  times  that  cougar  had  been  right  there 
in  her  cabin,  lashing  his  tail,  just  ready  to  spring 
upon  her  when  she  forced  herself  to  see  there 
was  no  animal  there.  And  Goss!  Night  after 
night  he  had  stood  there  in  the  corner  of  the 
fireplace  looking  down  upon  her,  always  with 

[262] 


The  Terror  of  the  Forest 


that  concerned,  pitying  look  in  his  eyes,  only  of 
late  there  was  a  deepening  of  the  pity.  He  had 
come  to  tell  her  there  was  no  escape;  that  if  her 
matches  or  her  wood  gave  out,  she  would  freeze 
to  death  and  there  was  no  one  to  save  her.  The 
yodel  was  all  a  part  of  the  horror  of  it. 

Yet  nearer  and  clearer  it  sounded — nearer 
and  nearer — and  there  was  some  one  pounding 
on  the  door,  and  calling  to  her — calling — call- 
ing- 
It  must  be  hallucination — it  might  be  wolves 
flinging  themselves  against  the  barred  door — but 
slowly,  slowly  the  girl's  shaking  hands  unbarred 
it.  The  door  flew  open  as  a  mass  of  snow  fell 
into  the  room  under  the  feet  of  two  men — and 
one  of  them  suddenly  jumped  and  caught  her — 
The  second  man  went  straight  to  the  mantle 
and  looked  at  the  four  matches  in  the  box;  then 
at  the  half  dozen  pieces  of  wood  in  the  corner. 
"Good  heavens!"  was  all  he  said. 


[263] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  SQUATTER 

THE  far,  faint  scream  of  a  cougar  one  sunny 
May  morning  sent  Jane  flying  into  her 
cabin,  panic-stricken.  It  was  a  very  faint,  dis- 
tant sound,  and  had  it  not  been  for  her  experi- 
ence of  the  winter  she  might  not  have  heard  it 
at  all.  But  she  listened,  tense  and  rigid,  at  the 
window  for  a  clearer  and  nearer  repetition  of 
the  cry.  It  did  not  come  and  she  began  to  rea- 
son with  herself. 

"A  cougar  is  a  coward,  Jane.  You  know 
that.  They'd  never  touch  a  grown  person  in 
broad  daylight,  and  in  the  spring,  too,  when 
there  are  plenty  of  young  fawns." 

The  May  sunshine  was  alluring,  the  washtub 
was  emphatic,  and  Jane  at  last  ventured  into  the 
fresh,  soft  air,  and  began  her  work.  Yet  she 
was  alert  for  any  stealthy  or  unusual  sound 
which  might  reach  her  over  the  rush  of  the  creek 

[264] 


The  Squatter 


as  it  swirled  down  to  go  thundering  over  the 
falls.  The  cry  had  not  come  from  the  other  side 
of  the  creek.  That  occurred  to  her  as  she 
listened  intently.  The  cougar  seemed  to  keep 
entirely  on  her  side  of  the  stream. 

She  began  her  washing,  still  alert  though 
there  was  little  chance  that  any  sound  from  a 
cougar's  padded  feet  would  reach  her,  and  a 
near-by  warning  scream  would  have  frozen  her 
to  the  spot.  But  with  all  her  listening  she  did 
not  hear  the  tread  of  a  horse  coming  up  the  trail 
until  a  whinny  close  to  her  made  her  jump  a 
foot. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  startle  you,  'pon  honor." 
Burnham's  jolly  laugh  was  infectious.  "You 
seemed  to  be  listening  and  I  thought  you  heard 
me. 

"I  was  listening.  I  heard — I  thought — I 
mean — "  She  paused  in  confusion.  She  was 
beginning  to  fear  these  men  would  regard  her 
as  a  coward. 

"What  did  you  think  you  heard?" 

"A  few  minutes  ago  I  heard  a  cougar  scream. 
It  was  far  away.  I  heard  just  the  faintest 
sound, — but  it  was  a  cougar.     And  just  as  you 

[265] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

came  up  I  thought  I  heard  something  beyond 
that  log.     It  must  have  been  Bob." 

"Do  you  remember  telling  me  of  that  ravine 
Sam  fell  into  last  fall?"  Burnham  sat  on  his 
horse  and  looked  beyond  the  big  fir  into  the 
green  depths  beyond.  "I  believe  that  these  cou- 
gars of  yours  must  have  their  lair  in  that  shel- 
tered hollow.  It 's  an  ideal  place  for  them,  or 
for  bears." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  there  is  more  than  one?" 
There  was  genuine  alarm  in  her  tone. 

"Oh,  no.     How  large  is  that  ravine?" 

"I  measured  it  with  a  long  pole  and  it  was 
certainly  over  twenty  feet  deep  in  that  spot.  Is 
it  really  a  hidden  ravine?" 

"Probably.  That's  nothing  unusual.  The 
trees  fall  and  others  fall  over  them.  In  the  de- 
caying punk  bushes  take  root.  It's  not  un- 
usual." 

"I  don't  like  the  idea  of  a  cougar's  lair  on  my 
homestead.     There  is  n't  room  for  both  of  us." 

"A  cougar  skin  would  make  a  good  rug  for 
you.     But  I  have  n't  any  trap  with  me." 

"I  have  n't,  either.  I  never  dreamed  of  need- 
ing such  a  thing." 

[266] 


The  Squatter 


"Let  me  see  if  the  Widdy  has  one.  She 
ought  to  be  up  on  woodcraft." 

He  sprang  off  his  horse  and  crossed  the  nar- 
row bridge.  It  was  some  time  before  he  reap- 
peared, and  Jane,  her  washing  deserted,  began 
to  pat  Bob.  Again  the  slight  sound  from  the 
tangle  caught  her  ear.  She  looked  apprehen- 
sively at  the  prostrate  fir  and  the  forest  beyond, 
but  there  was  nothing.  With  Burnham  near, 
her  fears  had  slight  hold  and  she  forgot  it  as  he 
came  triumphantly,  holding  a  steel  spring  trap 
from  which  dangled  a  heavy  chain. 

"Want  to  come  with  me?  Let's  see  if  we 
can  catch  Mr.  Cougar." 

To  venture  right  into  his  lair! 

She  stepped  into  the  house  and  picked  up  her 
revolver.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  been  any 
distance  into  the  forest  since  spring  had  come. 
Her  trail  work  had  been  along  the  creek  toward 
the  lake.  She  had  almost  forgotten  cougars  un- 
til the  scream  of  the  morning  brought  back  the 
winter's  fears. 

Over  the  invisible  trail  which  the  two  woods- 
men seemed  to  see  so  easily  they  passed,  Jane 
close  at  the  trapper's  heels;  then  striking  off 

[267] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

before  they  crossed  the  hidden  ravine,  Burn- 
ham  paused  at  a  spot  where  it  ended  in  a  mere 
depression  of  the  ground,  lightly  wooded  with 
young  alders  and  a  few  scrub  firs.  They  were 
hardly  beginning  to  leaf  out  yet.  Fastening 
the  heavy  chain  to  one  end  of  a  heavy  log, 
Burnham  baited  the  trap,  after  setting  it  in  a 
likely  place  near  the  cougar's  trail,  and  re- 
joined Jane  who  had  stood  at  some  distance  ex- 
pecting every  moment  to  feel  the  blow  from 
a  springing  animal. 

"If  Goss  comes  up  here  before  I  get  back," 
he  said,  as  they  struck  out  for  the  cabin  again, 
"tell  him  about  this  trap,  will  you?  We  want 
to  kill  that  brute  and  have  done  with  him.  I 
had  n't  thought  of  this  ravine  as  his  camping 
place  before." 

Burnham  regained  his  horse  and  Jane  her 
washtub.  He  mounted  and  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"I  came  up  a  moment  to  see  if  you  were  all 
right,  on  my  way  to  Illahee.  I  '11  be  back 
again  in  a  few  days.  Shall  I  bring  up  your 
mail?  Goss  may  possibly  come  down  before  I 
get  here,  but  it 's  hardly  likely.     Several  of  the 

[268] 


The  Squatter 


rangers  are  to  meet  up  the  valley  next  week,  to 
make  plans  for  fire  fighting.  The  supervisor 
is  to  be  here.  I  don't  believe  he  '11  have  time 
to  come  down.     Good-by!" 

Jane  turned  to  the  interrupted  washing. 
Saturday  should  not  be  washday  in  a  properly 
constituted  household,  but  such  theories  fade 
out  in  forest  life.  She  was  trying  to  bake,  too. 
"No  more  winter,"  she  thought  as  she  picked 
out  some  handkerchiefs,  "no  more  snow,  no 
more  floods,  no  more  cougars,  no  more — squat- 
ters," she  was  going  to  add  when  a  slight  rustle 
made  her  turn  quickly  to  find  herself  facing  the 
squatter  again. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  demanded  in  a 
reasonably  firm  tone.  Burnham's  presence  had 
left  her  with  more  courage. 

"Sumthin'  ter  eat."  The  voice  was  hardly 
more  than  a  growl. 

Controlling  herself,  she  studied  the  fragment 
of  human  wreckage  which  stood  before  her. 
Gaunt,  emaciated,  dirty,  with  tatters  flying  in 
the  light  May  breeze,  ragged  holes  in  elbows 
and  knees,  shifting  eyes  and  furtive  air, — could 
one  call  him  a  man,  she  wondered?     Yet  the 

[269] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

sight  of  the  human  suffering  took  away  every 
vestige  of  fear. 

"Go  sit  down  near  the  trunk  of  that  tree/'  she 
said  quietly,  "and  I  will  get  you  something  to 
eat." 

He  looked  at  her  without  moving. 

"Did  you  hear  what  I  said?"  She  repeated 
it  in  a  louder  voice,  with  forefinger  pointing  to 
a  place  some  hundred  feet  from  uie  cabin  door. 

The  squatter  shuffled  slowly  away  toward  the 
fir. 

Jane  went  into  her  kitchen,  belted  on  her  re- 
volver, and  barred  the  door.  She  did  not  feel 
the  slightest  fear  of  the  man  now,  yet  she  did 
not  care  to  turn  around  and  find  him  at  the 
door.  It  was  with  a  sense  of  pity  for  human 
misery  that  she  picked  up  the  steaming  kettle 
and  made  the  coffeepot  full  of  strong  coffee. 
It  was  only  a  few  minutes  before  ham  was  siz- 
zling on  the  hot  stove,  and  when  all  was  done, 
she  loaded  a  tray  with  a  pitcher  of  coffee, 
steaming  hot,  sugar,  canned  cream,  ham  and 
eggs,  bread  and  butter.  She  could  not  have 
set  a  much  better  impromptu  meal  before  Burn- 
ham  himself.     Unfastening  the  door  she  looked 

[  270] 


The  Squatter 


out.  The  squatter  sat  on  the  log,  watching  the 
cabin.  There  was  a  quick  movement  of  his 
head  as  she  came  out,  a  half  effort  to  rise,  and 
then  he  waited  until  she  walked  half  way  toward 
him  and  set  the  tray  on  the  stump  of  a  small 
tree,  motioning  him  to  come  there. 

With  revolver  still  in  her  belt,  she  resumed 
her  work  at  the  tub,  watching  the  derelict  out 
of  the  corners  of  her  eyes.  She  had  never  seen 
a  starving  man  eat  before,  and  she  never  wanted 
to  again.  The  ferocity  with  which  he  attacked 
the  food  made  her  shudder,  even  while  it  deep- 
ened the  ache  in  her  heart.  In  social  settle- 
ment work  she  might  have  become  accustomed 
to  the  men  of  the  bread  line,  but  her  teaching 
had  not  brought  her  in  contact  with  that  side  of 
life.     Watching  him,  she  began  to  speculate. 

Suppose  he  was  a  murderer?  Suppose  he  had 
committed  some  other  crime?  She  would  give 
him  food,  even  though  it  were  a  crime  in  itself. 
That  was  clear.  She  would  never  refuse  food 
to  any  starving  man,  but  suppose  she  were  help- 
ing to  defeat  the  ends  of  justice?  He  was  a 
fugitive.  That  was  unquestioned.  What  were 
the  ends  of  justice?    Justice  would  arrest  him, 

[271  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

put  him  in  jail,  perhaps  hang  him.  But  its  ob- 
ject would  be  punishment,  and  at  the  thought  of 
punishment  her  hazy  moral  sense  cleared  up. 
Nothing  she  could  do  would  defeat  the  ends  of 
justice  for  he  was  punishing  himself  as  no  court 
would  ever  do.  She  looked  again  at  the  tat- 
tered wreck.  He  had  almost  emptied  the  tray. 
Then  she  walked  over  to  him. 

"If  you  will  wait  a  little  while,"  she  said  in  a 
kindly  voice,  "I  will  give  you  some  food  to  take 
with  you."  He  looked  up  at  her  without  a 
word.  The  light  striking  on  his  face  brought 
out  painfully  the  hollow  eyes  and  the  fleshless 
cheeks. 

"Stay  here  until  I  bring  you  more  food." 

She  went  into  the  cabin  again,  and  this  time 
she  did  not  close  the  door.  More  ham  went 
into  the  frying  pan,  the  fragrant  coffee  was 
steaming,  and  the  long  knife  was  cutting  the 
last  loaf  of  bread  when  the  Widdy  flashed 
through  the  open  door. 

"What  you  a-feedin'  that  man  fur?"  she  de- 
manded brusquely. 

"Because  he  is  hungry." 

"How  'jer  know  he  ain't  goin'  to  kill  yer?" 
[  272  ] 


The  Squatter 


"He  might — if  I  did  n't  give  him  any  food. 
He  is  almost  starved,  Mrs.  Patton." 

"An'  now  he  '11  hang  aroun'  all  the  time. 
He  's  been  doin'  it  fur  a  year." 

"I  can't  help  it.  I  can't  let  any  man,  no  mat- 
ter how  much  of  a  criminal  he  may  be,  starve 
before  my  eyes.  I  'm  glad  you  Ve  come  over, 
though.  I  am  going  to  wrap  this  up  for  him  to 
take  away.  And  I  'm  going  to  give  him  more 
coffee.     It's  strong,  too." 

Jane  wrapped  up  the  bundle  of  food  as  she 
talked  and  picking  up  the  coffeepot  she  started 
again  for  the  fugitive.  She  refilled  the  pitcher 
from  the  pot  in  her  hand.  Hot  and  strong,  he 
drank  it  down  eagerly.  His  capacity  seemed 
unlimited. 

"Tell  me  who  you  are,"  she  said. 

No  answer  but  a  stare. 

"Tell  me  what  your  name  is  and  where  you 
live." 

Still  no  answer,  but  the  shifty  eyes  were 
watching  her  closely.  She  felt  a  sudden  sense 
of  repulsion. 

"This  is  more  food  for  you,"  she  said,  hand- 
ing    him    the    package.     "Don't    eat    it    now. 

[273  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Wait  until  to-morrow  or  next  day.  And  never, 
never  come  on  my  claim  again.  You  have  no 
right  on  my  homestead.     Do  you  hear?" 

She  left  him  still  staring  and  went  back  to 
face  the  condemnation  and  reproaches  of  the 
sharp-tongued  Widdy.  The  squatter  arose 
slowly  and  shuffled  down  the  trail.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  was  lost  to  view. 

At  sundown  that  evening  Leonard  Goss  came 
up  the  trail.  Though  the  evening  was  chilly, 
the  cabin  door  was  open  to  let  out  the  smell  of 
the  cooking. 

"Come  in,"  she  called.  "You  're  my  third 
caller.     I  'm  keeping  open  house  to-day." 

The  Widdy  appeared  at  her  door  and  he 
waved  to  her.     She  vanished. 

"Did  you  give  them  as  cordial  a  welcome  as 
you  do  me?"  he  asked,  as  he  dropped  her  hand. 
"I  suppose  Burnham  was  one.  I  can't  guess  the 
other." 

"Mr.  Burnham  was  the  first  one.  The  squat- 
ter was  the  next." 

"Is  he  around  again?"  Goss  dropped  down 
on  the  doorsill. 

"Yes — and  starving.  I  gave  him  an  immense 
[274] 


The  Squatter 


meal.  He  ate  it  ravenously.  Then  I  gave  him 
more  food  to  carry  away." 

Goss  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  incredu- 
lously, and  then  caught  sight  of  the  revolver  in 
her  belt. 

"I  thought  you  were  afraid  of  him." 

"I  was  until  I  saw  how  starved  and  miserable 
he  was.  The  Widdy  says  he  will  be  back  here 
for  food  all  the  time  now.  I  told  him  he  must 
never  come  on  my  homestead  again.  Do  you 
think  he  will?" 

"I  don't  know."  Goss  spoke  slowly.  "He 
might  if  he  were  hungry.  Starvation  will  drive 
a  man  to  almost  anything,  you  know.  If  he 
did  come  again  and  were  hungry,  I  should  give 
him  food, — yes.  It 's  safer,  let  alone  being 
more  humane.  But  keep  your  revolver  within 
reach." 

"That  was  my  point  of  view,  but  you  should 
have  heard  the  Widdy  scold.  Yet  I  don't  see 
either,  why  she  should  have  much  right  to  scold 
me.  All  the  spring, — nearly — that  empty  cabin 
of  hers  has  been  desolation  itself.  Really,  Mr. 
Goss,  she  is  not  a  bit  of  company  for  me." 

"I  know  it.  I  have  been  thinking  about  that. 
[275] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

But  if  I  don't  go  to  supper  now,  I  '11  be  the  one 
to  get  a  scolding."  He  laughed.  "I  wonder 
how  she  knew  I  was  coming." 

"She  thinks  you  and  Mr.  Burnham  travel  in 
pairs." 

"Wish  we  did, — but  thanks  to  that  old  cabin 
we  do  see  something  of  each  other.  I  '11  come 
over  after  supper.  I  want  you  to  go  up  the  val- 
ley with  me  to-morrow.  Several  of  the  rangers 
will  be  there  with  their  wives." 


[276] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

UP  THE  VALLEY 

JANE  thought  she  was  up  early  the  next 
morning,  but  when  the  straight  line  of  blue 
smoke  from  her  chimney  notified  her  neigh- 
bors that  the  first  move  had  been  made  toward 
breakfast,  and  she  opened  her  door  to  get  water 
from  the  creek,  she  was  surprised  to  find  Goss 
sitting  on  a  log  near  by  with  the  tawny  skin  of 
a  cougar  in  a  heap  beside  him. 

"Here  's  your  friend!"  he  called  cheerfully. 

The  fire  in  the  cook  stove  crackled  merrily 
for  some  minutes  after  that,  without  even  a  ket- 
tle of  water  to  heat. 

Jane  looked  him  over  carefully.  Nine  feet 
he  measured  from  the  tip  of  his  nose  to  the  tip 
of  his  tail,  tawny  yellow  on  the  back  shading 
down  to  a  rabbit  gray  on  the  under  part  of  the 
body.  He  was  not  a  pleasant-looking  beast, 
with  long,  strong  claws,  and  sinister,  malignant 

[277] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

mouth.  Even  though  he  was  dead  and  skinned, 
Jane  shivered  a  little. 

"He  was  caught  by  the  right  foot,"  explained 
Goss.  "Didn't  you  hear  him  yowl  last 
night?" 

"I  did  n't  hear  a  sound."  A  moment  later, 
studying  the  claws,  she  asked  the  question  she 
had  wondered  over  many  a  time.  "Could  that 
cougar  have  ripped  the  shakes  off  my  roof  last 
winter?" 

"If  he  actually  wanted  to,  he  probably  could 
have  done  it.  If  he  had  been  starving  and 
knew  there  was  food — and  knew  he  could  get  it 
that  way.  They  do  attack  children,  fawns, 
young  calves, — the  more  helpless  creatures, — 
but  they  are  really  great  cowards.  If  attacked 
and  cornered,  he  might  have  fought  hard — or 
he  might  not.  If  he  were  fighting  for  a  meal, 
and  were  starved,  as  I  said,  he  would  probably 
put  up  a  stiff  fight.  On  the  whole,  they  are 
cowardly." 

The  cabin  door  across  Thunder  Creek  opened 
and  the  Widdy  flagged  the  ranger.  He  arose 
at  once. 

"I  '11  bring  Dempsey  over  for  you,"  he  said 
[278] 


Up  the  Valley 


as  he  picked  up  the  bucket.  "Will  you  be 
ready  in  half  an  hour?"  He  brought  the  water 
to  the  door  and  set  it  down.  Jane  proceeded  to 
hurry  breakfast. 

Dempsey  had  not  been  under  the  saddle  for 
many  a  day  when  Goss  pulled  the  rearing, 
plunging  animal  across  the  creek,  while  Jane 
looked  on,  aghast  at  the  idea  of  riding  him. 

"You  ride  Dick,"  he  said,  as  he  noticed  her 
startled  face.  "You  could  n't  manage  this 
beast." 

He  shortened  the  stirrups  on  Dick  for  her  and 
lengthened  those  on  Dempsey  for  himself. 
The  Widdy  not  only  used  the  ordinary  cross 
saddle  of  the  mountains,  but  a  man's  saddle. 

"All  right,"  he  called,  as  Dempsey  started  off 
after  a  preliminary  flourish. 

"All  right,"  answered  Jane.  "Get  up,  Dick." 
Dick  considered  the  matter.  Jane  flicked  him 
with  the  whip.  "Come,"  she  said,  picking  up 
the  reins,  "get  up,  Dick."  She  gave  him  a 
sharper  blow  on  the  flank.  Dick  turned  and 
looked  carefully  at  the  woman  on  his  back. 
Another  blow  and  a  harder  one.  A  few 
muscles  twitched. 

[  279  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Goss  looked  back  and  seeing  her  motionless, 
rode  back. 

"How  do  you  start  this  animal,  Mr.  Goss?" 
she  asked  with  flushed  face,  mortified  by  Dick's 
theories  of  passive  resistance.  His  undisguised 
amusement  brought  more  color. 

"Come,  Dick,"  he  called,  and  Dick  obeyed 
with  his  usual  willingness. 

It  was  a  glorious  May  morning.  Thunder 
Creek  as  they  rode  beside  it,  flooded  with  the 
melting  snows,  rushed  and  crashed  and  roared, 
yet  this  morning  the  homesteader  heard  only 
the  music  of  its  thunder.  It  no  longer  terrified 
her  with  its  threats.  Winter  was  gone  with  the 
wet  black  panes,  the  high  wind  and  pattering 
rain,  the  cold  green  light  of  the  snowed-up  win- 
dows, the  howling  of  wolves  and  the  screaming 
of  cougars.  Instead  there  was  the  softest  of  ten- 
der blue  skies,  a  clear,  warm,  friendly  sunshine, 
the  light  breeze  rippling  over  the  fresh  green 
of  the  new  growths,  and  the  occasional  song  of 
the  birds. 

At  the  foot  of  Thunder  Creek  trail,  half  a 
mile  below,  they  encountered  a  train  of  pack 
horses,  loaded  with  tents,  blankets,  provisions, 

[280] 


Up  the  Valley 


and  other  supplies,  bound  for  the  ranger's  head- 
quarters. The  two  reined  in  to  let  the  train  pass 
them,  and  Jane  watched  with  delighted  eyes  the 
steady,  sure-footed  tread  as  they  plunged  into 
the  icy  waters  of  Thunder  Creek.  Dick  fol- 
lowed them  easily,  shivering  a  little  as  he  forded 
the  stream,  but  Dempsey  reared  and  snorted  and 
plunged,  and  then  dashed  through  the  cold  wa- 
ter at  breakneck  speed. 

The  girl  had  never  been  so  happy  in  her  life. 
At  last  winter  was  really  over.  She  realized  it 
more  fully  as  they  rode  on.  Spring  had  come 
in  earnest.  The  dogwood  trees  were  white 
with  creamy,  brown-centered  blossoms,  and  the 
wild  cherries,  seen  here  and  there  along  the 
streams,  were  snowy  white.  Cedars  and  spruce 
and  firs  were  tipped  with  light  green  spikes  of 
new  growth.  In  the  tiny  mountain  parks,  which 
grew  more  numerous  as  they  advanced,  were  the 
wild  rhododendrons,  fields  of  them,  it- seemed 
to  her,  with  magenta-tinged  purple  blossoms, — 
the  state  flower  of  her  newly  adopted  state.  In 
the  entangled  undergrowth  of  the  forests  were 
wild  roses,  not  yet  in  blossom,  the  yellow  flow- 
ers of  the  Oregon   grape,   the  pale  green  of 

[281] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

its  soft,  tender  leaves  differing  strangely  from 
the  hard,  stiff,  dark  green  leaves  of  late  summer 
with  their  holly-like  barbs.  The  white,  waxen 
blossoms  of  the  salal  gleamed  from  the  new 
green  leaves  still  adorned  with  light  pink  bracts, 
and  the  darker,  glossy  leaves  of  the  older 
growth  of  this  evergreen  shrub.  The  service 
berry  bushes  were  in  blossom,  and  wild  colum- 
bine, in  sunny  spots,  while  in  the  forests  the 
new  fronds  of  the  sword  ferns  and  of  the  fern 
brake  gave  yet  another  shade  of  green  to  the 
forest  growth. 

The  fears  of  the  winter  were  gone.  Home- 
steading  was  a  success.  The  cool  mountain 
breeze  swept  the  trail  under  the  towering  trees, 
with  the  ever-present  fresh  coolness  of  the 
Northwest,  and  the  sunshine  filtered  through  the 
cool  green  forest  in  golden  patches  of  light. 
Blue  sky,  in  tiny  patches,  was  visible  through 
the  swaying  crests  so  far  above. 

Often  the  trail  wound,  as  it  did  nearer  Illa- 
hee,  under  or  around  great  fallen  trees.  As  they 
turned  back  to  the  main  trail,  Jane  noticed  a 
fire-warning  sign,  somewhat  different  from  those 
she  had  seen  before: 

[282] 


The  cool  green  depths  of  a  Washington  forest 


Up  the  Valley 


PORESTJIREST 

WARNING 

IT  IS  UNLAWFUL  ANO  PUNISHABLE  BY  FINE  ANO  IMPRISONMENT, 

Flrst-To  set  and  leave  any  fire  that  may  spread  to  adjacent 
timber  or  other  property. 

Second— To  burn  slashings,  chopplngs,  and  the  like,  from 
June  ist  to  October  ist,  without  a  permit  issued  by  a  Fire 
Warden  or  Forest  Ranger. 

Third  to  operate  spark-emitting  locomotives,  engines  or 
boilers  without  using  safe  and  effective  spark  arresters. 

Fourth— To  deface,  destroy  or  remove  this  notice. 

Fifth— To  refuse  to  render  assistance  in  suppressing  timber 
fires  when  called  upon  by  Fire  Wardens  or  Rangers. 

Slxth^-Campcrs, 'prospectors,  hunters,  fishermen  and  others 
are  warned  against  kindling  and  using  fire  where  it  is  liable  to 
spread  and  destroy  timber  or  other  property,  and  are  advised  to 
build  fires,  when  necessary,  In  the  beds  of  streams  which  are 
exposed  during  the  dry  season,  or  on  open,  clear  ground.  In 
every  instance  thoroughly  quench  your  fire  before  leaving  it. 
This  may  save  you  great  trouble  and  expense. 

See  Chapter  164,  La^rs  of  1906.  and  Chapter  126  Laws  of  1911. 


Approved  by  the 

State  Board  of  Forest  Commissioners 

May  1*  IM1 


J.  R.  WELTY 

STATE  FORESTER  AND  FIRE  WARDEN 


Windfalls  from  the  previous  winter  had  as 
yet  been  chopped  away  only  in  the  worst  places 
along   the    route.     Five   miles   above   Thunder 

[283] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Creek,  as  Goss  turned  into  a  short  side  trail  a 
log  cabin  hidden  among  the  trees  came  into 
view. 

Jane  suddenly  realized  where  she  was.  Two 
horses,  saddled,  stood  near  the  door.  Goss 
whistled,  waited,  then  rapped  on  the  door  with 
his  riding  whip. 

"Is  this  where  my  furniture  landed?"  she 
asked,  remembering  the  hilarity  with  which 
her  friends  had  told  her  of  their  unexpected 
freight  yard. 

Goss  laughed  and  nodded.  The  occupants 
of  the  cabin  were  ready  to  join  them.  They 
were  introduced  as  Mr.  Gates  and  his  wife.  He 
was  a  ranger  from  the  district  across  the  river, 
and  with  his  wife  had  used  the  cabin  as  a  half- 
way house  on  their  way  up  the  valley.  The 
four  were  soon  on  their  way. 

Up  they  climbed  and  then  down  again,  as  the 
trail  wound  through  the  forest,  yet  the  general 
elevation  was  higher  and  Jane  knew  there  must 
be  falls  in  the  river  below.  The  mountains  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  Illahee  fell  back  from 
the  river  and  lay  in  long  folds,  mile  after  mile 
and  league  after  league,  each,  half  revealing, 

[284] 


Up  the  Valley 


half  concealing  another,  forest  covered,  blue 
with  the  soft  mists  which  blended  with  the  deep 
blue  at  the  edge  of  the  world,  where  the  serene 
blue  above  met  the  softer  tint  beneath.  And 
always,  somewhere,  snow  glistened  in  the  sun- 
light. 

Here  and  there  along  the  trail,  where  the 
drifts  of  the  winter  had  piled  deep  in  a  hollow 
in  the  forest,  there  were  still  patches  of  snow 
into  which  the  horses  sank,  plunging  desperately 
to  get  a  footing  in  the  snowy  depths.  Trickling 
streams  of  water  gurgled  from  the  edges  of  such 
patches. 

"Hold  the  reins  loosely  and  give  him  his 
head,"  directed  Goss  as  Dick  went  almost  head- 
long into  an  unexpected  depth  of  snow,  kicking 
and  struggling  to  get  his  footing.  And  the 
plucky  little  animal  soon  pulled  himself  out  of 
it.  They  went  more  slowly  over  the  snow,  but 
Goss  led  with  a  sure  knowledge  of  the  hidden 
trail.  Then  they  wound  downward  again,  and 
before  the  middle  of  the  morning  they  had 
reached  headquarters,  a  two-story  house  of 
peeled  and  varnished  logs  at  the  foot  of  a  moun- 
tain, dark  with  forests,  but  almost  in  the  midst 

[285] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

of  a  long,  level  stretch,  green  with  the  new 
spring  crops. 

Ordinary  conversation  is  impossible  to  any 
group  of  people  strung  out  in  a  line,  following, 
Indian  fashion,  along  a  narrow  trail.  So, 
though  Jane  got  the  sense  of  good  fellowship 
from  the  two  who  had  joined  them,  and  knew 
herself  dependent  upon  friendly  Mrs.  Gates  as 
chaperone,  she  had  little  chance  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  pleasant-faced,  vigorous 
woman,  not  much  older  than  herself. 

The  object  of  getting  the  rangers  together 
was  to  discuss  plans  for  united  work  in  adjoin- 
ing districts  for  fire  fighting  during  the  coming 
summer.  The  districts  of  the  men  were  tre- 
mendous in  extent.  Goss,  for  instance,  was  in 
charge  of  more  than  two  hundred  thousand 
acres  of  country,  densely  wooded,  with  craggy 
peaks,  susceptible  to  lightning  strokes,  heavily 
forested,  with  precipitous  breaks  in  the  moun- 
tain sides,  impassable  by  reason  of  fallen  trees 
and  the  jungle  of  undergrowth  except  as  fire 
trails  or  pack  trains  were  btiilt  through  it 

Mrs.  Gates  and  Jane  spent  the  afternoon  in  a 
long  walk  to  various  points  where  they  were  in 

[286] 


Up  the  Valley 


sight  of  the  mountains  beyond  the  river,  clothed 
with  mysterious,  shimmering  blue.  But  her 
companion  understood  something  of  her  hus- 
band's work,  and  the  talk  at  meal  times  was  on 
fire  fighting,  so  it  was  not  hard  to  learn  the  es- 
sentials of  that  all-important  work.  The  prin- 
ciples were  few  but  comprehensive:  a  quick 
arrival  at  .the  fire;  an  adequate  force;  proper 
equipment;  thorough  organization  of  the 
fighting  crew;  a  knowledge  of  the  country;  and 
skill  in  meeting  any  particular  fire  by  the  quick- 
est and  most  effective  method  of  meeting  its 
particular  characteristics. 

Trails  were  badly  needed.  The  year  before, 
in  a  district  across  the  river,  a  fire  had  been  seen 
from  a  lookout  point,  but  it  had  taken  three 
full  days  for  the  fire  guards  to  locate  it,  partly 
because  of  the  inaccessibility  of  that  gulch, 
through  density  of  the  forest  and  lack  of  trails, 
and  also  because  of  the  thick,  all-enveloping 
smoke.  Underneath  every  plan  that  the  rangers 
laid  could  be  heard  the  mention  of  fire  trails. 
Fire  breaks  were  also  needed — stretches  deliber- 
ately laid  waste  and  bare,  between  sections  of 
the  forest, — but  they  must  come  when  Congress 

[287] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

made  a  larger  appropriation.  The  fact  that 
millions  of  dollars  of  valuable  timber  were  go- 
ing up  in  smoke  every  year  did  not  seem  to 
bring  the  necessary  monetary  resources  for  the 
needed  protection  of  the  forests. 

Without  trails  and  equipment,  buried  at  con- 
venient points  along  the  trails,  the  men  could 
do  their  best,  yet  it  might  amount  to  nothing. 
Efficiency  depended  upon  the  skill  and  experi- 
ence of  the  man  directing  the  work.  He  must 
judge  as  to  the  character  of  the  fire  as  well  as 
of  the  forest,  the  strength  and  direction  of  the 
wind,  the  condition  of  the  atmosphere,  the 
rapidity  with  which  the  fire  was  running,  and 
the  best  method  of  attack.  Small  surface  fires 
could  be  beaten  out,  as  they  often  were,  by  a 
ranger  who  might  find  them,  with  long,  sidewise 
strokes  of  a  wet  burlap,  or  perhaps  his  own 
coat.  In  a  forest  covered  with  an  inflammable 
carpet  of  needles  and  with  brushwood,  dirt 
thrown  on  flames  had  but  little  effect.  Iron 
buckets  and  bucket  pumps  were  not  practicable 
in  the  mountains,  but  special  packs  of  tools, 
ready  to  place  upon  a  horse's  back  and  includ- 
ing collapsible  pails,  axes,  mattocks,  ropes,  pro- 

[288] 


Up  the  Valley 


visions,  were  kept  in  convenient  places  as  well 
as  at  the  ranger's  headquarters. 

Mrs.  Gates  talked  much  more  freely  of  her 
husband's  work  than  Goss  did  of  his  own.  Jane 
was  interested  in  everything.  She  had  taken  it 
for  granted  that  a  ranger  ought  to  be  able  to  do 
ordinary  cooking, — making  bread  and  prepar- 
ing meats, — but  it  had  not  occurred  to  her  that 
an  intimate  knowledge  of  locations  with  good 
grass  for  the  horses,  good  water,  good  fishing, 
if  possible,  and,  in  dry  seasons,  such  locations 
that  fires  may  not  burn  out  his  outfit,  were  ab- 
solutely required.  She  learned,  too,  that  it  was 
obligatory  upon  a  ranger  to  know  as  well  as  pos- 
sible all  the  people  within  the  boundaries  of 
his  district,  and  that  his  success  depended 
upon  his  tact  and  skill  in  dealing  with  them,  as 
well  as  with  the  sheep  men  who  ranged  their 
herds  in  the  open  glades.  She  did  know,  of 
course,  for  Goss  had  told  her,  that  one  of  their 
duties  was  to  protect  the  game,  and  to  rid  the 
reserves  of  ruthless  hunters  who  kill  for  heads 
and  horns,  or  for  teeth  only. 

"And  a  man  must  be  strong,"  said  Mrs. 
Gates.     "Any  man  that  peters  out  in  no  time 

[289] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

ain't  got  no  call  to  come  into  a  forest  reserve." 

Jane's  memory  went  back  to  the  Christmas 
floods,  and  the  days  of  work  that  followed  the 
long,  hard  ride. 

"And  the  forest  fires?" 

"Thet  h  the  worst  work  of  all,  'specially  when 
the  fires  get  high  and  the  hired  workers  keep 
'em  going  for  the  sake  of  the  pay." 

That  was  a  phase  of  fire  fighting  which  Goss 
had  never  discussed  with  her.  In  fact,  as  she 
thought  back  over  their  talks,  forest  fires  was  the 
one  subject  which  he  had  carefully  avoided. 
She  determined  to  make  him  tell  her  about  it  at 
the  first  opportunity. 

Goss  joined  her  after  supper  that  night  as  she 
stood  with  her  hands  in  her  sweater  pockets 
looking  at  the  blue  ridges  of  mountains.  The 
sun  was  gradually  sinking  toward  the  highest 
distant  peak. 

"Did  Mrs.  Gates  show  you  the  seed  dryer?" 
he  asked. 

"Seed  dryer!     No.     What  is  it?" 

"Come  and  see." 

They  wandered  off  to  the  tentlike  structure, 
rather  closely  shelved,  though  exposed  to  the 

[  290] 


Up  the  Valley 


breeze  on  all  sides,  in  which  cones  were  ripened 
and  dried  until  the  seeds  could  be  collected. 

"I  never  heard  you  talk  about  picking  cones  I" 

"I  never  pick  them.'' 

"I  thought  you  said  that  collecting  cones  was 
part  of  your  work." 

"It  is.     Can  you  guess  how?" 

Jane  thought  a  moment. 

"Cones  usually  do  not  fall  until  they  are 
pretty  ripe,  and  you  are  likely  to  lose  many  of 
the  seeds — even  then  the  squirrels  would  get 
them  before  you  did.  No,  I  can't  guess.  Do 
you  climb  the  trees?" 

"We  rob  the  squirrels." 

"That's  mean." 

"No,  it  is  n't.  They  can  get  more.  You  see 
squirrels  run  out  on  the  uppermost  branches,  to 
the  far  tips,  where  the  best  cones  grow.  They 
nibble  them  off  and  let  them  fall,  and  then 
gather  them  around  some  favorable  hole  and 
hide  them." 

"Then  you  rangers  steal  them." 

"The  squirrels  don't  starve.  We  take  them 
early  in  the  fall  when  they  have  time  to  lay  in 
another  supply.     It's  the  only  way  to  get  the 

[291  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

best  seeds.     Sometimes   a   single  squirrel  will 
hide  two  bushels  of  fat  cones." 

"Plucky  little  things." 

"Yes,  Uncle  Sam's  four-footed  friends.  The 
rangers  send  the  cones  to  headquarters,  seeds 
are  collected  and  sifted,  and  used  to  reforest 
other  districts." 

They  wandered  away  from  the  dryer  to  a 
rocky  point  to  watch  the  sunset.  The  long, 
north  country  twilight  was  before  them,  and 
Goss  had  news  for  her — news  which  might 
mean  much  for  both  of  them.  Also  he  had  a 
question  he  wanted  to  ask  her.  But  there  was 
plenty  of  time  and  she  might  lead  up  to  it, 
unintentionally. 

"This  is  wonderful  to  me,"  she  said,  as  she 
looked  over  at  the  sweep  of  mountain  before 
them,  a  soft  gray-blue  against  a  clear  yellow 
light.  The  sun  had  set  behind  that  topmost 
ridge.  "I  have  been  in  among  the  trees  so  long! 
Here  there  is  such  a  view — and  how  wonder- 
fully beautiful  it  is." 

They  stood  in  silence  watching  the  deepening 
of  the  soft  blue.  There  was  a  tinge  of  pink  in 
the  sky  now. 

[  292  ] 


Up  the  Valley 


"I  once  heard  some  one,"  Jane  said,  as  she 
sat  down  on  the  end  of  a  log,  "make  a  remark 
about  the  Land  of  Little  Sticks.  That  has  been 
in  my  mind  all  day,  though  they  could  never 
call  this  country  such  a  name." 

She  looked  around  to  the  mountain  rising  di- 
rectly above  with  its  tall  straight  trees  and  its 
wilderness  tangle.  Drifting  on  the  evening 
breeze  came  the  reek  of  the  camp  fire,  pungent 
yet  pleasant,  and  the  sound  of  men's  voices  in 
a  jolly  chorus. 

"It's  a  country  suggestive  of  romance.  I 
don't  wonder  that  the  voyageurs  and  the  fur 
hunters  of  the  old  fur-trading  companies  could 
not  go  back  to  civilization.  This  whole 
country,  with  its  wonderful  snow  peaks,  the 
massive  mountain  ridges,  dense  forests,  and  its 
rivers — it 's  all  romantic.  I  never  yet  have 
been  on  the  Columbia  river  in  the  evening  that 
I  did  not  dream  I  heard  the  echo  of  some  old 
chanson,  sung  in  time  to  the  dip  of  the  paddle." 

It  was  romantic.  The  slender,  graceful  out- 
lines of  an  Indian  tepee,  with  a  fire  glimmer- 
ing on  the  ground  before  it,  would  have  carried 
them    back,    perhaps,    forty   or   fifty   years    to 

[293  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

earliest  pioneer  days;  or,  still  farther  back,  to 
the  boating  songs  of  the  voyageurs. 

"I  have  some  news  for  you  to-night,"  he  said 
after  a  long  silence,  seating  himself  beside  her. 
The  mountains  were  darker  now,  but  still  that 
wonderful  gray-blue,  every  peak  and  ridge  out- 
lined sharply  against  a  background  o*  orange 
and  gold.  The  pink  had  faded  out.  "I  have 
just  received  my  appointment  as  deputy  super- 
visor of  the  reserve." 

"Good!  Congratulations!"  exclaimed  Jane. 
She  knew  how  much  the  delayed  promotion 
meant  to  him.  "You  will  be  able  to  do  more  for 
the  forests  now."  She  looked  up  at  him,  recall- 
ing Burnham's  remark,  "Goss  is  a  king  among 
men."     She  agreed  with  him  fully. 

"Yes — much  more.  Ellison  is  to  take  my 
place.  You  met  him,  didn't  you?"  Jane  re- 
membered a  man  whom  Mrs.  Gates  said  was 
new. 

"Then  you  knew  it  before?" 

"I  knew  it  must  come  soon.  Mr.  Granger 
knew  it,  so  he  brought  up  Ellison.  He  did  n't 
telephone  it  because  he  said  he  wanted  to  sur- 
prise me." 

[294] 


Up  the  Valley 


"I  am  so  glad.  Tell  me  about  your  new 
work." 

But  the  new  deputy  supervisor  had  other 
things  on  his  mind. 

"Tell  me  what  you  did  to  keep  yourself  busy 
last  winter — when  you  were  snowed  in,"  he 
asked  suddenly.  "I  should  have  thought  you 
would  have  gone  crazy." 

UI  guess  I  nearly  did,  toward  the  last — when 
the  wood  began  to  give  out."  She  wondered 
why,  when  he  had  so  studiously  avoided  that 
subject,  he  should  begin  to  talk  of  it  now  and 
with  such  interest  in  his  tone. 

"I  sewed  and  mended  and  cooked  and  tended 
the  fire,"  she  went  on,  "and  read,  or  tried  to, 
and  slept — a  little — and  tended  the  fire.  It  al- 
ways wound  up  with  tending  the  fire.  I  cooked 
before  the  open  fireplace  to  save  wood — and 
pretended  I  was  camping  out — and  then — " 

"Then  what?"  He  hoped  she  would  give 
him  some  opening  soon. 

"I  tried  to  write  a  story.  But  I  got  all 
tangled  up  over  the  copyright." 

"What  did  that  have  to  do  with  the  story?" 

He  was  smiling  down  at  her  now,  and  when 
[295] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

he  smiled  in  that  teasing  way,  Jane  always  felt 
as  though  she  were  a  very  small  child. 

"Stories  have  to  be  copyrighted,  you  know." 

"But  not  until  after  they  are  written." 

"Ohl"  There  was  a  long,  comprehensive 
silence.  "You  see  I  never  thought  of  trying 
such  a  thing  before,  and  I  did  n't  know  anything 
about  it." 

"How  did  you  get  'tangled'?" 

"I  could  n't  quite  understand  what  it  was  that 
was  copyrighted — that 's  why.  I  wanted  to  set- 
tle it  beforehand.  Suppose  I  had  been  writing 
about  a  doodle  bug  or  a  dinky  bird,  and  some 
one  else  had  written  about  them  and  copy- 
righted it — would  I  be  infringing  their  patent?" 

"I  think  not."  His  voice  was  very  gentle. 
"You  see  you  might  touch  upon  another  phase 
in  the  life  of  the  doodle  bug — " 

"I  don't  believe  I  make  it  clear.  Suppose  I 
wrote  something  about  myself.  If  I  copy- 
righted it,  then  nobody  could  ever  write  about 
me  except  myself?  Or  if  I  wrote  it  and  some- 
body else  copyrighted  it,  would  that  give  them 
any  claim  on  me — any  hold  on  me?" 

[296] 


Up  the  Valley 


"I  wish  it  did,"  he  said  under  his  breath. 
Here  was  his  chance. 

"I  think  I  see  your  point,"  he  said  aloud. 
"Do  you  know  what  I  would  like  to  have  you 
do?  Write  the  story  of  your  experiences  last 
winter  and  let  me  copyright  it.  I  think  that 
would  be  an  excellent  plan." 

"Would  n't  that  give  you  some  sort  of  author- 
ity over  me?  I  never  even  thought  about  copy- 
righting until  I  decided  to  write  for  the  'La- 
dies Home  Journal.'  " 

"It  might.  You  see — you  would — in  a  sense 
— I  mean — you  mean — "  Why  could  n't  he  get 
it  out?  It  was  the  best  chance  he  ever  would 
get  to  ask  that  one  question,  he  knew.  "You  see 
— I  mean — you  would  belong — to  me — " 

"Mr.  Goss,  I  am  very  sorry  to  interrupt  you. 
I  hope  you  will  pardon  me,  Miss  Myers."  It 
was  the  voice  of  the  supervisor.  "I  have  just  had 
a  telephone  message  which  will  take  me  back  to 
Illahee  instead  of  going  over  across  the  river. 
The  state  forester  has  wired  me  to  meet  him 
there.  I  will  have  to  leave  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning,  so  I  should  like  to  go  over  some  mat- 

[297] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

ters  with  you  this  evening.  You  will  pardon 
me,  Miss  Myers?" 

"Certainly.  We  were  only  watching  the  sun- 
set." 

"Goss,  I  want  you  to  go  over  to  Gates'  dis- 
trict tomorrow,  so  I  think  perhaps  we  might  all 
go  down  the  trail  tomorrow  together." 

"Certainly,  sir." 

That  would  give  him  her  company  to  the 
cabin,  at  any  rate.  But  little  chance  would 
there  be  for  any  personal  conversation  in  the 
presence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gates,  and  the  super- 
visor. So  the  three  walked  to  the  ranger's 
house  together, — a  somewhat  startled  young 
woman,  a  disappointed  young  man,  and  an  ob- 
livious supervisor  whose  mind  was  solely  on  his 
work. 


[298] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ON  THE  PEAK 

SUNDAYS  in  the  forest  were  just  like  any 
other  days,  Jane  Myers  meditated,  as  she 
sat  on  her  doorstep  and  looked  out  over  the 
dancing  waters  of  the  creek.  Her  dinner  was 
safely  stowed  away  in  the  fireless  cooker,  so  she 
had  time  for  meditation  even  if  she  was  to  have 
some  one  for  dinner.  When  she  was  cooking 
for  some  one  else,  the  cooker  was  released  from 
its  ignominous  standing  of  a  window  seat  and 
put  to  its  proper  use,  but  when  she  was  alone 
Jane  found  its  very  appearance  desolating. 
For  lack  of  human  society  she  had  to  have  the 
pleasant  crackle  of  the  wood  in  the  stove,  the 
glimmer  of  light  under  the  kettle.  It  seemed 
more  homelike. 

She  had  been  dreaming  of  the  old  home  that 
morning,  as  memory  carried  her  back  to  the 
home  town  in  Connecticut  and  she  heard  again 
the  faint  echo  of  the  church  bells.     She  could 

[299] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

hear  again  the  plaintive  notes  of  the  small  organ 
and  the  shrill  soprano  of  Miss  Maria  in  the 
choir.  And  then  the  face  of  the  old  minister, 
grave  and  gentle,  and  fine,  came  back  to  her. 
She  remembered  the  pleasant  light  in  his  face 
the  day  she  had  told  him,  who  had  known  her 
all  her  life,  that  she  wanted  him  to  say  the 
solemn  words  that  would  make  her  Ned  Brent's 
wife.  "But  I  wonder  how  solemn  they  would 
seem  now  if  I  had  married  him,"  she  murmured. 
She  shivered  a  little  as  she  remembered  his 
grave  face  during  that  long  horrible  wait  for 
the  bridegroom  who  never  came  and  his  tender- 
ness to  her  in  the  days  that  followed.  And  her 
mind  drifted  on  to  her  year  at  college  and  again 
she  heard  the  sweet-toned  chimes  ringing  out 
over  the  lake  and  valley  the  old  church  hymns 
which  she  had  known  from  cradlehood. 

Now  it  was  all  so  different.  Was  she  really 
the  same  Jane  Myers?  Could  this  really  be  she, 
this  brown-faced  girl  living  alone  in  the  forest 
with  only  the  companionship  of  a  sharp-tongued 
old  woman  and  these  two  men  who  had  been 
such  good  friends  of  hers?  Her  glance  fell  on 
the  cougar  skin  which  adorned  her  floor  and  she 

[3°°] 


On  the  Peak 


remembered,  again  with  a  little  shiver,  that 
fearful  yell  on  the  cabin  roof,  the  endlessly  long 
weeks  of  winter, — and  his  face  as  he  had  en- 
tered the  door  that  morning  when  they  had 
rescued  her.  Did  he  care  for  that  other  girl — 
the  one  who  had  turned  him  down?  "That  is, 
I  think  she  turned  him  down" — Jane  always 
found  it  necessary  to  be  explicit  with  herself  on 
that  point.     Did  he — 

"He-e-e-igh  ho-o-o-o!" 

She  roused  herself  at  the  familiar  sound,  and 
rose  as  Bob  came  lightly  up  the  trail.  Burn- 
ham  dropped  from  his  horse  and  Bob  began  to 
look  for  grass. 

"All's  well?"  he  asked. 

"All 's  well,"  she  responded  smilingly. 

The  weeks  of  springtime  in  the  open  air, 
grubbing  up  the  trail  and  chopping  the  lighter 
firewood  had  brought  back  the  color  and  fresh- 
ness lost  during  those  imprisoned  weeks  of  win- 
ter. 

"Dinner's  almost  ready,"  she  added  as  she 
stepped  into  the  house.  The  beauty  of  a  fireless 
cooker  was  that,  with  known  weight,  a  dinner 
can  be  ready  on  a  given  moment.     Jane  began 

[301  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

to  dish  the  meal,  while  Burnham  took  her  place 
on  the  doorstep  for  a  moment. 

"It 's  too  beautiful  to  come  in  the  house,  even 
for  a  meal,"  he  remarked  as  he  seated  himself  at 
the  table  in  answer  to  her  call. 

"If  it  stays  warm,"  she  answered,  "I  am  go- 
ing to  try  eating  out  of  doors." 

"Ugh!  Bugs,  flies,  ants,  cold  meals,  sun  in 
your  face — " 

"Yet  you  like  camping  out!" 

"Yes,  indeed.  I  love  the  wildness,  the  open- 
airness  of  it, — when  I  am  out  of  doors.  But 
here — that 's  another  thing." 

"Did  you  see  my  rustic  table?  I  made  it 
from  some  of  the  planks  left  from  the  flooring." 

"It  wobbles!     I  'm  sure  it  wobbles." 

"My  beautiful  table!  And  I  worked  so  hard 
over  it!  Mr.  Goss  said  it  was  a  good  piece  of 
work." 

Burnham  gave  her  a  quick  glance. 

"It's  fine.  And  so  's  the  chair.  Where  did 
you  get  that  idea?" 

"Mr.  Goss  suggested  it.  He  cut  the  young 
alders  for  it  last  month  and  showed  me  how  to 
bend  them." 

[3021 


On  the  Peak 


Burnham  inspected  the  chair  gravely.  "I 
think  I  can  show  you  how  to  improve  upon  that 
design,"  he  said.  "If  you  bend  the  arch  less 
and  make  it  more  solid  in  the  back,  it  will  be 
more  comfortable." 

But  even  carpenter  work  by  Jane  was  at  that 
moment  of  less  interest  to  him  than  the  well- 
cooked  dinner  which  Jane  had  set  before  him. 
The  lighter  china  used  by  her  was  always  a  re- 
lief to  him.  Tin  cups  in  the  forests  and  tin 
plates  as  well  were  all  right,  but  the  ironstone 
china  which  he  endured  elsewhere  always 
grated  upon  him.  It  was  a  fastidious  trait  he 
had  retained  from  civilization.  Yet  even  in 
his  own  cabin  the  chinaware  was  the  hideous 
ironstone,  "Because,  you  know,"  he  remarked 
to  Goss  one  day,  railing  upon  heavy  chinaware, 
"we  'd  smash  the  other  kind  all  to  flinders  in  no 
time." 

"Let's  go  up  to  the  Peak  this  afternoon  and 
watch  the  sunset,"  he  suggested,  as  dinner  pro- 
gressed. Jane  left  the  table  to  replenish  the  hot 
biscuit.  "It's  a  glorious  day  outside,  and  the 
sunset  is — well,  it 's  a  miracle.  When  Goss  and 
I  are  in  the  mood  for  it  we  have  been  known  to 

[3°3  3 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

travel  fifteen  miles  in  all  to  see  the  sun  set  over 
the  Peak." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Up  in  the  forests  somewhere.  I  don't  know 
just  where." 

"Do  you  think  he  might  come  while  we  are 
away?" 

Burnham  turned  and  gave  his  hostess  a 
searching  look.  Jane  was  bending  over  a  pan 
of  hot  biscuit  just  drawn  from  the  oven  and  if 
there  was  more  color  in  her  face,  the  heat  was  a 
ready  excuse  for  it. 

"We  can  leave  a  note  for  him — he  can  follow 
if  he  wants  to;  or  wait  for  us  if  it's  too  late." 

"All  right.  I  should  like  to  go.  But  we  '11 
have  to  borrow  the  Widdy's  pony." 

"I  '11  manage  that." 

Dinner  once  over,  Burnham  hurried  off  to 
ask  the  Widdy  for  her  pony.  He  was  in  a 
hurry  to  get  started,  as  he  frankly  admitted  to 
himself,  because  he  was  afraid  Goss  would  ap- 
pear. "And  he  sees  quite  enough  of  her,"  he 
muttered.  Ever  since  the  rescue  in  the  winter, 
Burnham  had  realized  that  this  particular 
cabin  had  grown  to  have  an  almost  irresistible 

[304] 


On  the  Peak 


fascination  for  him,  and  he  had  not  hesitated  to 
take  the  advantage  which  his  frequent  trips  up 
and  down  the  trail  necessitated  to  become  a  fre- 
quent caller.  Goss's  time  was  not  at  his  own 
disposal  and  he  was  there  much  less  often,  yet 
Burnham  had  noticed  that  he  was  there  as  often 
as  possible.  If  both  of  them  took  their  meals 
with  the  Widdy  it  was  chiefly  to  help  her  and  a 
generous  wish  not  to  be  an  expense  to  the 
younger  homesteader,  but  the  meal  once  eaten, 
the  Widdy  saw  them  no  more.  Jane  had  in- 
vited her  to  join  them  on  some  of  their  jaunts, 
.but  journeying  through  the  woods  for  pleasure 
when  she  lived  in  them  and  experienced  their 
hardships  was  not  the  Widdy's  idea  of  fun. 

"It's  six  miles  up  to  the  Peak  by  the  long 
trail,  and  two  back  by  the  short  one,"  said 
Burnham  as  he  reappeared  with  Dempsey,  then 
added  abruptly  as  he  saw  the  wave  of  a  dish 
towel,  "Good  gracious.  You  're  not  going  to 
wash  those  dishes  now,  are  you?" 

"It  isn  't  good  housekeeping  to  leave  them." 

"Haven't  you  enough  for  supper?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"And  for  breakfast?" 

[305  1 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"Yes." 

"Then  why  wash  them?"  Burnham's  logic 
was  still  essentially  masculine. 

Jane  laughed.  "All  right.  I  don't  have 
good  company  for  a  climb  up  the  mountain 
every  day.     We  '11  let  the  dishes  go." 

Burnham  brought  Dempsey  around  to  a 
block  of  wood  which  could  serve  as  a  mounting 
block.     "Now—" 

"Oh,  wait.  We  did  n't  write  any  note  for 
Mr.  Goss." 

"Oh,  yes.  You  write  one."  But  he  looked 
in  the  other  direction. 

"There.     Will  you  stick  that  on  the  door?" 

"Gone  to  see  the  sunset  on  the  Peak.  Follow 
if  you  can,"  it  read. 

He  gritted  his  teeth  and  fastened  up  the  note. 

"Now,"  he  said  again,  and  this  time  they 
started  off,  down  the  trail.  With  the  sure- 
footed mountain  horses,  Jane  had  only  to  let 
Dempsey  follow  Burnham's  horse  and  give  her- 
self up  to  enjoyment. 

Through  the  cool  greenness  of  the  forest,  amid 
the  cathedral  arches  of  the  great  trees,  spruce  and 
fir  and  cedar,  they  traveled  a  while  in  silence. 

[306] 


On  the  Peak 


The  only  sounds  were  the  ripple  of  the  creek 
and  then  the  voice  of  the  falls,  clear  and  deep 
and  musical,  the  light  murmuring  of  the  tree 
tops  in  the  light  breeze,  the  breathing  of  the 
horses  and  the  splash  of  water  as  they  left  the 
springy  soil,  carpeted  with  dry  needles,  and 
waded  through  the  streams.  Now  and  again 
they  forded  a  stream  whose  swift  current  forced 
the  ponies  to  brace  themselves  against  it— not 
the  happy,  rippling  creeks  wandering  through 
grassy  New  England  meadows,  but  streams 
which  were  wild,  picturesque,  romantic,  pow- 
erful, like  all  of  nature's  work  in  the  great 
Northwest.  From  the  chill  of  the  forest,  as 
they  climbed  upwards,  grassy  meadows, 
sprinkled  with  wild  flowers,  broke  the  density 
of  the  forest.  The  song  of  the  birds  rippled 
musically  over  the  gemlike  parks.  Here  and 
there  snowy  patches  still  lingered,  bordered  by 
trickling  streams  of  water,  pierced  with  the 
smooth,  dark  leaves  and  the  waxen  flowers  of 
the  Alpine  lilies. 

At  last  they  left  the  regular  trail  and  climbed 
straight  upward,  Burnham  leading  with  a  sure- 
ness   of   footing  which   betokened   perfect   ac- 

[3°7  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

—————  '  i  ii  ini» 

quaintance  with  the  spot,  far  though  it  was 
from  the  beaten  trail  of  mankind. 

"This  hill,"  he  remarked,  as  they  climbed 
through  the  last  bit  of  snow  lying  in  a  hollow, 
"I  call  Paradise  Point,  because  of  the  flowers 
and  the  view." 

The  ground  up  that  last  steep  slope,  open  to 
the  south  and  sheltered  from  the  wind,  was 
carpeted  with  wild  flowers,  of  all  colors — red, 
blue,  yellow,  and  white,  mountain  anemones, 
wild  columbine,  Canadian  dogwood, — a  tiny 
flower  a  few  inches  high,  with  the  dogwood 
blossom, — spring  beauties,  mountain  buttercups, 
Alpine  lilies,  squaw-grass,  and  many  another 
radiant  blossom. 

Jane  with  head  bent  to  the  ground,  exclaim- 
ing over  the  fragrance  and  beauty  of  the  sunlit 
hill,  let  the  pony  climb  at  his  own  will. 
Dempsey  at  last  heaved  a  great  sigh  and  stood 
still.  Jane  looked  up.  Without  knowing  it, 
she  had  climbed  to  the  crest  of  a  hill  overlook- 
ing the  valley  of  the  Illahee. 

Below  her, — three  thousand  feet  below, — 
raged  the  untamed,  ice-cold  waters  of  the  Illa- 
hee, bordered  to  its  edge  with  the  great  forests 

[308] 


On  the  Peak 


which  covered  the  slopes.  The  great  firs  of  the 
forest  were  no  larger  than  arrows;  the  river 
merely  a  silvery  thread  between  masses  of  black- 
ish-green. To  the  north  and  the  south  were 
rounded  green  slopes,  wooded  to  their  very  tops. 
But  directly  opposite  her,  towering  over  all,  its 
dazzling  white  crown  gleaming  against  the  deep 
blue  of  the  sky,  rose  the  great  snow-capped 
Peak. 

Burnham  glanced  at  her  silently  and  turned 
away  at  the  awed  rapture  on  the  girl's  face. 
The  deep  breathing  of  the  horses,  the  light  mur- 
mur of  the  breeze,  were  the  only  sounds.  Then 
at  last  he  helped  her  down  off  her  horse,  un- 
saddled the  panting  animals,  and  dropped  the 
saddle  blanket  on  the  ground  for  a  seat. 

"I  thought  I  knew  the  beauty  of  these  moun- 
tains," Jane  said,  turning  to  him  as  the  after- 
noon wore  away  with  only  light  comment  oc- 
casionally on  either  side,  "but  I  never  imagined 
anything  like  this." 

Gradually  the  shadows  lengthened  as  the  sun- 
set lights  began  to  creep  over  the  Peak,  and  the 
long  purple  shadows  nestled  into  the  silent 
corners  of  the  lower  slopes.     Still  the  man  could 

[909] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

not  find  the  words  to  say  what  he  had  meant 
to  say.  The  silence  between  them  was  un- 
broken by  any  sound  except  that  long,  solemn 
roll,  like  a  far-away  organ,  of  the  wind  in  the 
tree  tops  below  them.  The  quiet  of  the  place, 
the  wondrous  beauty  and  solemn  splendor  of 
the  peak  in  its  marvelous  coloring,  banished  the 
last  thought  of  strangeness  between  them. 
They  two,  and  they  only,  lived  in  that  wonder- 
ful evening.  Burnham  had  seen  it  before.  In- 
deed, as  he  had  told  Jane,  he  and  Goss  had 
ridden  miles  to  see  the  sunset  on  the  Peak,  but 
it  was  never  twice  the  same.  And  this  evening 
it  was  all  the  more  sublime  in  its  hues  because 
she  was  there.  It  had  silenced  her  just  as  it  al- 
ways silenced  him — just  as  it  silenced  him  now 
when  he  wanted  so  much  to  ask  her  that  one 
question.  The  apparent  trivialities  of  human 
life  were  overawed. 

Still  the  lights  grew  softer  on  the  peaks, — the 
rosy  tints  illuminating  the  valleys  open  to  the 
light,  the  purple  shadows  darkening  in  the  for- 
ested slopes  below. 

Far  to  the  westward  the  setting  sun  painted 
a  golden  pathway  through  the  Straits  of  San 

[310] 


On  the  Peak 


Juan  de  Fuca,  softening  in  the  fading  light  the 
long  black  guns  that  look  toward  the  Far  East 
and  dimming  the  bold  outlines  of  the  square- 
built  barracks.  Lights  from  large  cities  sprang 
up  along  the  eastern  edge  of  the  great  inland 
sea  as  the  mountain  range  of  the  Olympics  faded 
into  soft  gray-blue  against  a  pale,  golden  sky. 
In  the  Straits  and  on  the  Sound  gray-tipped 
gulls  wheeled  and  screamed  above  the  ships  of 
ocean,  but  on  the  Peak  there  was  only  the  grand- 
eur of  the  mountain  and  the  wondrous  silence. 

"  I  have  dreamed  of  halls  enchanted," 
quoted  Burnham  softly. 

"Halls  with  tapestries  resplendent 
And  high  dreams  of  painting  poets 
Wrought  for  kings  and  sons  of  kings; 
And  I  Ve  gazed  when  sunset  glory 
In  historic  mountain  places 
Caught  and  changed  the  clouds  of  autumn 
Into  gorgeous  curtainings  .  .  . 

"In  the  face  of  a  sunset  like  that,  one  feels  that 
God  cannot  be  very  far  away  from  His  chil- 
dren," he  added  thoughtfully. 

It  was  only  as  they  rose  to  go  that  Burnham 
found  courage  to  speak.     And  then  the  words 

[311] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

he  had  planned  would  not  come.  He  had  lost 
them  all. 

"Jane,"  he  blundered,  as  she  stood  waiting  for 
him  to  help  her  mount,  "is  there  any  chance  for 
me — in  your  life?" 

"Don't — please  don't,"  she  answered  quickly. 

"I  can't  help  it.  To-morrow  we  shall  be 
twenty  miles  apart  again — and  I  must  know — 
because — because — I  love  you  so." 

The  girl  was  silent.  Far  below  the  purple 
shadows  were  deepening.  The  rosy  haze  was 
softening. 

"Don't  say  no,"  he  begged.  "Don't  say  no! 
At  least  give  me  a  chance.  Could  n't  you  learn 
to  care?" 

Her  answer  when  it  came  was  slow.  She  had 
known  this  would  come,  some  day,  but — 

"I  truly  do  not  know — myself,"  she  said  at 
last.  "I  don't  dare  say  no.  I  can't  say  yes — 
because — " 

"Because—?" 

"Because — I  don't  know." 

And  with  that  he  had  to  be  satisfied.  Of  one 
thing  only  he  assured  himself,  as  he  pleaded, — 
that  he  stood  as  good  a  chance  as  any  one  else. 

[312  ] 


On  the  Peak 


But  that  "any  one,"  as  he  knew,  was  Leonard 
Goss. 

They  were  silent  again  as  the  ponies  followed 
the  homeward  trail  in  the  long  northern  twi- 
light, yet  with  both  was  the  vision  of  a  perfect 
day. 

"One  thing's  certain,"  thought  Burnham  as 
they  came  out  of  the  deepening  shadows  of  the 
forest  into  the  slight  clearing  around  the  cabin, 
"nothing  can  ever  take  away  from  me  this  day's 
memories." 

At  the  cabin  they  found  Goss.  He  had  read 
the  note,  and  gauging  the  time  of  their  return, 
had  started  the  fire  in  the  cook  stove.  For  rea- 
sons of  his  own  he  had  not  followed  them.  A 
blaze  in  the  open  fireplace  welcomed  them  from 
the  cool  chill  of  the  forest.  It  was  a  simple 
thing  to  do,  and,  in  the  hospitality  of  the  forest 
its  omission  would  have  been  worthy  of  reproof, 
but  to-night  Burnham  was  distinctly  annoyed 
with  his  friend.  He  felt  that  Goss  was  taking 
liberties.  He  could  just  as  well  have  arranged 
with  the  Widdy  for  their  supper  had  he  so 
desired. 

But  Goss,  after  a  keen  glance  at  both  faces, 
[313] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

cooked  the  supper  and  played  his  part  with  un- 
diminished cheerfulness. 

"I  forgot  the  doughnuts,"  said  Jane,  in  a  pause 
in  the  desultory  talk.  She  rose  from  the  table 
and  rilled  a  plate  with  them. 

"Do  they  have  holes  in  them?"  asked  Goss 
grayely,  as  she  passed  him  the  plate. 

"Of  course,"  she  answered  in  surprise.  A 
smile  came  over  Burnham's  face. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  see,"  said  Goss  imperturbably 
as  he  helped  himself. 

Burnham  declined  the  doughnuts,  and  Jane 
was  disappointed. 

"I  thought  you  were  fond  of  doughnuts." 
She  did  not  tell  him  she  had  baked  these  espe- 
cially for  him. 

"Usually  he  is."  Goss  spoke  before  he  could 
answer.  "Never  mind,  Jack,"  he  added  in  a 
teasing  voice,  "I'll  eat  the  doughnuts.  You 
may  eat  the  holes." 


[314] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HOPE  DENHAM  AGAIN 

Denham's  Ranch,  July  24. 
Dearest  Jane: 

How  I  wish  I  had  you  to  advise  me.  You 
can  see  from  my  dating  that  I  am  at  Uncle 
Mart's,  and  I  Ve  had  so  many  troubles  lately  I 
want  to  talk  things  over  with  you.  Uncle  Mart 
and  Jack  are  men,  and  of  course  they  only  see  a 
man's  point  of  view.  And  Aunt  Mary  is  no 
good  at  advising.  She  's  the  sort  of  a  woman 
who  is  submerged  in  housekeeping  for  two. 

If  you  can't  make  a  word  of  sense  out  of  this 
letter,  don't  say  anything.  I  think  I  Ve  lost  my 
senses. 

The  fire  came  last  Monday.  You  know  what 
a  hot,  dry  summer  this  has  been  everywhere. 
We  were  afraid  of  it,  and  I  had  plowed 
around  my  land  to  protect  it,  just  a  little,  though. 
The  prairie  sod  after  the  days  and  weeks  of  bak- 
ing sun  were  as  hard  and  tough  as  leather.     I 

t3i5] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

have  felt  sorry  for  you  sometimes,  up  in  those 
endless  forests,  hemmed  in  by  those  dense  trees, 
while  I  had  the  boundless  plains  before  me  and 
low  foothills  off  to  the  west.  I  could  see  so  far, 
and  the  plains  are  wonderful,  but  be  thankful 
you  will  be  spared  the  horrors  of  a  prairie  fire. 
Jack  and  Uncle  Mart  warned  us,  because  these 
fires  come  so  suddenly.  The  heat  had  been 
awful,  no  rain  for  weeks,  and  there  were  days 
when  I  'd  have  given  all  I  possessed  for  an  ice- 
cream soda  with  a  stick  of  macaroni  to  drink  it 
through.  But  there  was  n't  anything  except  the 
warmish  water  of  the  little  brook,  and  that  al- 
most dried  up.  Everything  was  as  dry  as  tin- 
der. And  Toby  and  I  nearly  smothered  in  the 
heat,  trying  to  plow  even  that  little  fire  break. 
The  cabin  was  suffocating,  and  out  of  doors  it 
was  just  as  bad,  with  the  yellow  leaves  on  the 
cottonwood  half  dried  up. 

The  fire  came  from  the  east,  and  just  at  sun- 
rise. I  thought  it  meant  rain',  but  it  stayed  red, 
and  then  suddenly  I  realized  that  it  was  fire. 
I  stood  there  fairly  frozen,  when  Jack  came 
plunging  over  the  plains  on  his  horse  yelling, 
"Back  fire!     Back  fire!"     And  suddenly  I  re- 

[316] 


Hope  Denham  Again 


membered  Woodsey.  She  is  n't  the  pioneering 
type,  you  know, — not  a  bit  resourceful,  and  she 
had  n't  even  plowed  a  fire  break.  I  ran  for 
the  matches,  and  Jack  dashed  away  for  Wood- 
sey's  cabin.  I  started  fire  all  along  the  fire 
break  watching  it  lest  it  should  cross  that  nar- 
row furrow,  and  watched  the  flames  eat  back 
against  the  dawn  wind  while  that  other  fire  out 
there  was  racing  toward  us,  and  Jack  and 
Woodsey  still  out  on  the  plains.  When  I  saw 
them  coming  back,  and  that  it  would  be  a  race 
between  the  horses  and  the  fire,  I  shut  my  eyes 
and  nearly  screamed — being  a  woman.  The 
fire  was  so  close.  But  they  got  on  to  the 
burned  stretch  just  as  the  back  fire  met  it.  It 
was  awful!  The  two  fires  seemed  to  spring  at 
each  other,  and  rose  high  in  air,  and  then  sank, 
while  the  flames  roared  by  on  each  side  of  us, 
but  we  were  safe  on  that  black  smoking  stretch. 
Woodsey  lost  everything.  She  had  n't  waked 
up  to  the  danger  at  all,  and  even  when  Jack 
came,  she  wanted  to  try  to  save  something!  He 
carried  her  to  his  horse,  jumped  bareback  on 
hers,  and  they  raced  for  life. 
And  after  the  fire,  the  sun  shone  as  warm  and 
[317] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

bright  as  ever,  and  the  skies  were  so  blue,  but 
the  earth  was  inky  black  and  desolation  itself, 
just  as  far  as  one  could  see.  I  saved  everything, 
but  I  was  frightened,  and  Jack  insisted  that  I 
should  not  homestead  alone  any  longer,  though 
the  danger  now  is  all  past.  We  were  to  have 
been  married  at  Christmas,  and  he  wants  me  to 
marry  this  fall,  and  to  stay  with  Uncle  Mart  un- 
til I  do.  I  am  tired  of  homesteading  alone.  I 
think  if  I  had  n't  fallen  in  love,  I  could  have 
gone  on  with  it,  but  it  has  lost  its  novelty.  It 
will  go  all  right  double  team,  though. 

Yet  I  can't  quite  make  up  my  mind  about 
hurrying  up  the  wedding.  Uncle  Mart  says, 
yes.  Father  never  did  like  my  homesteading 
and  he  says,  yes.  Mother  wants  me  to  come 
home  first,  but  you  know  there  is  n't  much 
money  and  a  good  many  little  folks,  yet  I  want 
to  go,  awfully.  Tell  me  what  you  think. 
Even  if  you  are  not  in  love,  I  should  take  voir: 
judgment,  I  think. 

All  my  friends  say,  Aunt  Mary  included, 
"Well,  why  did  you  take  up  a  homestead,  any- 
way?" Because  of  Mac,  my  future  brother-in- 
law,  of  course.     Jane,  I  certainly  did  have  a 

[318] 


Hope  Denham  Again 


time  of  it  with  that  man,  from  that  very  first 
week,  when  you  stood  waiting  for  me  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  in  a  supposedly  empty  schoolhouse, 
and  I  slid  down  the  bannister.  I  never  should 
have  lost  my  balance  if  Mac  had  n't  so  suddenly 
appeared  from  room  4.  But  I  did — and  he 
caught  the  full  force  of  my  weight.  To  my  dy- 
ing day,  I  shall  laugh  when  I  think  of  his 
ruffled,  angry  appearance  as  he  picked  himself 
up,  dusty  as  to  clothes,  and  rumpled  as  to 
dignity,  trying  to  think  of  something  crushing 
to  say.  And  he  could  n't  think  of  it!  Poor  lit- 
tle man!  It  was  his  first  experience  as  prin- 
cipal,— and  even  school  teaching  had  n't  tamed 
me  down  entirely.  Then  that  other  day,  two  or 
three  months  later, — early  in  the  spring, — when 
I  shr  ,jed  on  a  banana  peel  just  outside  the 
schoolroom  door,  as  he  was  expounding  beauti- 
ful theories.  It  might  as  well  have  been  a  peal 
of  thunder  for  the  lightning  in  his  eyes.  Oh, 
he  had  it  in  for  me!  I  could  have  forgiven  him 
some  of  the  many  snubs,  if  he  had  n't  gone 
straight  home  and  told  that  brand-new  wife  all 
his  troubles  with  me.  There  was  only  one  side 
of  things  to  her,  of  course — his  side.     And  what 

[319] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

a  chatterbox  she  was!  Every  chance  caller  was 
told  all  about  it. 

And  that  next  summer  when  Billy  Dixson 
and  I  were  in  bathing  at  the  ocean,  having  such 
fun — now  how  on  earth  could  we  know  Mac 
had  arrived  that  morning?  Billy  dived  for  a 
piece  of  long  white  driftwood — we  had  stirred 
up  the  Atlantic  a  bit  in  our  fun — but  it  was  n't 
driftwood.  The  yell  Mac  gave  as  he  felt  the 
jerk  trailed  off  into  a  helpless  gurgle  as  he  went 
under.  If  I  'd  been  drowned  the  next  minute,  I 
should  have  laughed.  I  nearly  did  drown. 
Billy  actually  had  to  rescue  me.  The  minute 
we  were  dressed  we  went  around  and  apolo- 
gized, but  he  would  n't  hear  anything.  I  had 
planned  it  all.  Lovely  man — and  now  he  'a  my 
brother-in-law,  or  will  be,  soon. 

And  then  that  winter,  he  objected  to  my  silver 
gray  dress,  on  a  dark  winter  morning,  in  a  north 
room!  First  morning  that  winter  I  had  not  had 
on  a  white  jabot  and  cuffs,  besides  ruching. 
Just  my  luck!  After  three  years  of  persistent 
injustice,  I  did  answer  back.  But  of  course  it 
ended  any  chance  of  teaching  for  me.  He 
never  told  the  facts  about  it,  of  course.     Simply 

[32°] 


Hope  Denham  Again 


said  I  did  n't  have  a  good  influence  over  chil- 
dren. That 's  as  easy  as  to  say  of  a  person  you 
don't  like  yourself  that  nobody  can  get  along 
with  them.  The  thing  that  bothered  me  though 
was,  that  Mrs.  Mac  felt  it  incumbent  to  explain 
to  every  one  "how  it  happened"  and  talked  in 
her  usual  fashion.  I  held  my  tongue,  but  she 
stirred  up  a  lot  of  talk,  and  when  echoes  of  it 
drifted  back  to  them,  both  of  them  accused  me 
of  talking  against  Mac. 

I  don't  know  why  I  tell  you  all  this,  except 
that  I  am  so  stirred  up.  The  future  relation- 
ship is  the  one  shadow  on  my  happiness  with 
Jack.  Do  write  me  a  good  long  letter,  and  give 
me  some  good  advice.  I  wish  you  were  n't  up 
in  those  endless  forests. 

And  I  wish  you  'd  fall  in  love  with  some  nice 
man — but  what  chance  would  you  have  up 
there!     Do  write  soon. 

Lovingly, 

Hope. 

Later. 
P.  S.     I  suppose,  to  be  perfectly  fair,  that  it 
was  just  as  well  for  Mac  that  I  was  n't  twins. 

[321  3 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

I  Ve  been  thinking  of  something  Grandmother 
used  to  say,  that  when  things  got  all  tangled  up, 
the  only  way  out  was  to  love  your  way  out.  I 
believe  I  '11  try  that,  because  I  'm  sure  I  would 
be  happier  myself. 

Still  Later, 
I  believe,  the  more  I  think  of  it,  that  love  is 

the  only  way  out.     And  I  guess  it  will  have  to 

include  Mrs.  Mac,  too. 
Here  's  a  kiss,  Janie,  dear. 


[322] 


CHAPTER  XX 
DANGER 

WITH  the  middle  of  July,  small  fires  were 
springing  up  at  various  points  in  the  re- 
serve. More  men  were  sent  up  to  Ellison's  dis- 
trict when  word  came  of  a  fire,  started  by 
lightning,  on  the  Needles.  Goss  knew  that  was 
a  particularly  difficult  point. 

"Nuthin'  much,  I  guess,"  said  Ellison  as  he 
started  out  with  men  and  pack  horses  over  the 
trail.  The  trail  to  the  Needles  had  been  the 
first  one  that  Goss  had  superintended,  he  had 
once  told  Jane,  because  those  Needles  were  at 
the  most  inaccessible  point  in  his  whole  district. 
They  were  needle-pointed,  rocky  pinnacles,  with 
steep  precipitous  sides,  covered  with  stunted 
junipers,  which  almost  crawled  over  the  ground, 
so  low  and  scrubby  were  they,  and  with  conif- 
erous trees  of  moderate  size.  It  was  miles 
from  headquarters  by  the  most  direct  trail  that 
could  be  built.     The  worst  thing  about  a  fire, 

[323  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Goss  had  remarked  to  his  men  as  they  built  the 
trail,  was  that  it  went  straight  across  country 
without  regard  to  such  roundabout  routes  as 
trails. 

The  danger  from  the  fire  at  the  Needles  lay 
in  the  fact  that  from  its  craggy  spires  the  burn- 
ing twigs  and  hot  sparks  drifted  down  in  the 
summer  stillness  into  the  forest  below.  The 
column  of  smoke  arising  now  could  be  seen  for 
miles  from  the  lookout  points. 

Between  the  Needles  and  the  nearest  sheep 
ranger  lay  a  lightly  forested  tract  upon  which 
the  sheep  men  had  often  laid  envious  eyes.  If 
those  trees  were  once  out  of  the  way,  the  grazing 
area  would  be  almost  doubled.  Showers  of 
sparks  and  ashes  were  drifting  down,  there  was 
little  chance  of  being  caught,  and  the  herder 
hastily  piled  together,  in  a  natural  way,  a  mass 
of  dry  brush  in  the  bottom  of  a  small  gully, 
struck  a  match,  and  then  quickly  drove  his  herd 
to  the  other  end  of  his  allotted  tract.  Up  and 
up  blazed  the  fire,  catching  at  the  lower 
branches  as  it  blazed  through  the  scrubby  trees, 
and  then  flashing  to  the  top.  Ellison,  fighting 
his  fire  on  the  other  side  of  the  Needles  found 

[324] 


Danger 

that  some  new  fire  had  swept  past  his  fire  lines. 
The  area  of  burning  forest  had  doubled. 

Still  there  was  little  danger  if  he  could  sur- 
round the  burning  district.  The  air  was  mo- 
tionless. The  heavy  night  dews  always  some- 
what deadened  the  blaze.  But  the  summer  had 
been  unusually  dry,  as  the  spring  had  been  un- 
usually wet.  There  was  some  chance,  though 
not  much,  that  the  fire  might  spread  still  more. 

"Any  danger,  Jim?"  asked  a  young  camper 
from  the  east,  of  his  guide  one  night  as  the  reek 
of  the  pungent  smoke  drifted  down  to  him. 
"We  should  n't  want  to  get  caught  in  a  forest 
fire,  you  know." 

"Ther  's  alius  some  danger  when  ther  woods 
is  on  fire,"  answered  the  guide.  "Ther  ain't 
no  wind,  though.     They  '11  put  it  out  all  right." 

"You  see  to  it  that  you  get  us  out  of  here  if 
there  is  any  danger.     Understand  that?" 

"That 's  right,  Frank,"  exclaimed  another  of 
the  party.  "If  there  's  any  danger,  we  '11  pull 
out.  It 's  back  to  old  Chicago  for  me  if  these 
forests  are  going  to  burn." 

Despite  the  guide's  assurance,  Frank  Wyatt 
was  up   rather  early  the  next  morning.     The 

[  32Sl 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

smoke  was  a  little  heavier,  he  thought.  He 
looked  up  the  canon  and  then  at  the  guide, 
getting  water  at  the  stream  below. 

"Get  up,  fellows,"  he  shouted,  adding  as  they 
roused,  "we  M  better  pull  out  of  here,  I  think. 
I  don't  like  the  looks  of  things.  This  fellow  's 
got  to  hurry  up  breakfast,  too." 

He  piled  brush  on  the  camp  fire.  The  morn- 
ing was  chilly.  It  caught  with  a  snap  and  a 
sparkle. 

Wyatt  stood  by  the  fire,  enjoying  the  pleasant 
heat,  in  the  chill,  as  the  guide  returned  from  the 
stream  with  the  water  for  the  coffee.  Suddenly 
Jim  rushed  forward  and  dashed  the  contents  of 
the  pail  on  the  camp  fire.  It  was  too  late!  As 
the  astonished  campers  followed  the  gaze  of  the 
guide,  they  saw  above  them  the  whole  side  of 
the  canon,  sloping  backward  and  covered  with 
dry  grass,  sparkling  and  flickering.  The  brush- 
wood had 'carried  the  flame  too  high. 

The  blaze  was  beyond  their  reach,  nor  was 
there  any  way  of  throwing  water  upon  it.  By 
the  time  they  could  get  to  the  top,  the  fire  would 
have  been  there  long  enough  to  meet  them  with 
a  full  blaze.    Yet  the  guide  was  for  fighting  the 

[326] 


Danger 

fire,  and  a  war  of  words  followed  while  the  fire 
crept  higher  and  higher  up  the  bank  and  began 
to  burn  around  the  trees. 

"Forest  fire  nothing!  You're  here  to  guide 
us  through  this  forest — not  to  fight  fires.  D  '  ye 
understand?  Now  get  us  out  of  here  on  the 
doublequick.  We  can  report  the  fire  as  we  go 
down." 

There  was  no  time  to  fool  with  breakfast. 
The  horses,  sniffing  uneasily,  were  saddled  and 
the  party  started  down  the  valley. 

Near  headquarters  they  met  the  deputy  su- 
pervisor with  fifty  additional  men,  hurrying  to 
the  Needles.  The  fire  had  burned  for  four 
days  and  was  getting  beyond  their  control. 
One  might  suspect,  but  it  would  be  hard  to 
prove,  that  the  sheep  men  were  helping  it  along. 
And  now  these  sportsmen,  so-called,  were  help- 
ing it  further.  Goss  heard  their  report  with  a 
grave  face.  He  knew  the  spot,  and  knew  it  was 
another  almost  inaccessible  point.  Without  a 
moment's  delay,  he  divided  his  men  and  ordered 
part,  with  fire-fighting  packs,  to  make  all  speed 
to  the  new  blaze. 

"You  are  liable  for  this,  you  understand. 
[327  ] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

You  have  seen  the  forest  fire  warnings.     Give 
me  your  names." 

"My  father  '11  pay  for  it,  all  right,"  answered 
one.     "He  's  a  Chicago  banker." 

"He  can't  pay  the  loss  to  the  forest,  unfortu- 
nately," said  Goss  sternly.  "See  to  it  that  you 
don't  set  any  more  fires  on  your  way  out. 
Jim,"  he  added,  as  he  put  away  his  report  book, 
"go  up  the  Thunder  Creek  trail  and  tell  the  two 
women  homesteaders  to  go  into  Illahee. 
They'll  be  safer  there.  Tell  them  the  forests 
are  unusually  dry." 

The  deputy  supervisor  hurried  on  to  overtake 
his  men  and  horses. 

"Now  you  foller  this  trail,"  said  Jim,  as  they 
forded  Thunder  Creek.  "I  gotter  go  up  here 
a  piece  to  warn  these  two  wimmen.  I  '11  ketch 
up  with  you." 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  Wyatt.  "You  '11  come 
right  along  with  us  and  get  us  out  of  this  forest, 
or  I  '11  know  why." 

"How  far  is  it  to  Illahee?"  asked  the  second 
one  of  the  party. 

"Twenty  miles." 

"And  suppose  we  get  lost?" 
[328] 


Danger 

"Yer  can't  if  yer  foller  the  trail.  You  heard 
my  orders." 

"If  those  two  women  don't  know  enough  to 
get  out  of  a  burning  forest,  let  them  stay  in." 

"I  '11  ketch  up  with  yer  inside  of  half  an 
hour,"  said  the  guide.  "You  keep  right  on  go- 
ing ahead."  He  started  for  the  Thunder  Creek 
trail. 

Wyatt  was  too  quick  for  him. 

"You  will,  will  you?"  he  said  defiantly,  shak- 
ing with  fear  at  the  idea  of  being  lost  in  a  burn- 
ing forest.  "Now  you  take  your  choice — 
that/'  and  he  drew  a  revolver,  "or  guiding  us." 

Still  the  guide  hesitated.  Goss's  word  was 
law  in  the  forest.  To  win  his  disfavor  was  to 
give  up  his  work  as  guide. 

"You  're  responsible,  since  you  Ve  engaged 
with  us,  to  get  us  out  of  this  forest.  That  fellow 
has  nothing  to  say  about  it.  Now  see  that  you 
get  us  out  of  here." 

After  all,  any  man  could  make  that  trail  in 
half  a  day.  He  could  get  those  brave  youths 
into  Illahee  and  come  back  in  time  to  warn  the 
homesteaders.  There  was  no  wind.  The  fire 
would  not  spread  rapidly. 

[329] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Jim  turned  toward  Illahee.  A  mile  farther 
down  he  met  a  belated  fire  guard.  His  horse 
had  loosened  his  pack.  Jim  stopped  him  as  they 
passed. 

"Do  yer  know  if  them  wimmen  homestead- 
ers is  out?"  he  asked. 

"I  met  the  Widdy  down  here  by  the  ava- 
lanche.    Reckon  the  other  one  's  out,  too." 

So  they  had  taken  warning  from  the  smoke. 
Jim  went  ahead  with  a  lighter  heart. 

"Jove!  What  a  bonfire  that  would  make," 
said  one  of  the  three  as  they  trailed  around  the 
avalanche.  They  all  paused  a  moment  to  look 
down  at  it. 

"Should  n't  want  to  be  around  when  that  was 
afire,"  said  one.  Wyatt  took  his  pipe  out  of  his 
mouth  and  began  cleaning  it.  As  the  others 
turned  to  go,  he  tapped  it  lightly  on  the  edge  of 
a  projecting  tree  trunk. 

Jim  turned  quickly.  That  youth  had  set  one 
forest  fire  that  morning. 

"Them  ashes  hot?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"Nawl"  said  Wyatt.  "It's  been  in  my 
pocket  for  an  hour."  He  winked  at  the  others. 
The  horses  resumed  their  steady  pace. 

[330] 


Danger 

But  behind  him  the  thoughtless  Chicago 
youth  had  left  a  few  red-hot,  glowing  ashes. 
Ordinarily  they  would  have  died  out.  But  the 
avalanche  was  a  tinder  box.  They  fell  upon 
dry  needles  and  twigs,  thoroughly  heated  by  the 
hot  sun.  Within  an  hour  white  flames  were 
licking  lightly  around  the  dried  tree  trunks  and 
the  interlaced  branches.  The  second  fire  had 
been  set  as  unintentionally  as  the  first,  and 
neither  he  nor  his  companions  knew  what  they 
had  done.  Yet  the  deliberate  action  of  the 
sheep  men  could  not  have  had  more  serious  re- 
sults. 

It  was  true  that  the  Widdy  had  gone  in.  As 
the  smoke  filtered  down  through  the  trees  and 
hung  in  light  wreaths  over  Thunder  Creek, 
Jane,  going  across  the  bridge  to  her  cabin,  found 
her  preparing  to  go  to  Illahee  again.  Dempsey 
was  saddled  and  ready. 

"Oh,  is  it  so  dangerous?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Huh.  Ther's  no  danger,"  answered  the 
Widdy. 

"Then  why  are  you  going  in  town?" 

"Why  do  I  ever  go?" 

"I  'm  afraid  to  stay  here  alone — especially 
[33O 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

since  this  fire  's  started.  Do  you  know  where  it 
is?" 

The  Widdy  continued  her  packing. 

"Is  there  any  real  danger,  Mrs.  Patton?  It 
is  n't  kind  of  you  to  treat  me  so.  I  must  know 
what  to  do.  You  Ve  been  in  these  forests  for 
years.  You  ought  to  know."  Jane  was  thor- 
oughly aroused. 

"Go  er  stay  as  yer  please,"  she  snapped. 
"Thar  ain't  no  danger,"  she  added  contemptu- 
ously.    "Huh.     Sally  wants  me." 

Jane  remembered  that  one  of  the  fire  guards, 
out  of  pure  good  will,  had  brought  them  mail 
the  day  before.  The  Widdy  had  received  a  let- 
ter. 

"If  I  had  a  horse  I  believe  I  'd  go  in  with 
you.  But  I  don't  feel  like  walking  twenty 
miles." 

"Wal,  yer  ain't  got  no  horse." 

Then  she  added  more  kindly.  "Thar  ain't 
no  danger." 


[332  1 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WHEN  THE  FORESTS  BURN 

nr^HE  fire  around  the  Needles  was  not  the 
-*-  only  fire  in  that  reserve,  even  aside  from 
the  two  accidentally  started  that  morning  by 
campers.  Several  smaller  fires  had  started 
from  one  cause  and  another,  and  Goss  had  just 
finished  supervising  the  extinguishing  of  two 
threatening  ones  before  starting  for  the  Needles. 
His  party  divided,  to  meet  the  new  danger,  Goss 
with  the  rest  of  his  men  and  the  pack  ponie9 
started  up  the  long,  difficult  trail.  The  men 
were  of  all  classes,  stragglers  in  the  town,  others 
temporarily  out  of  work,  and  the  hands  from 
the  mills  which  had  shut  down  to  fight  the  fires. 
The  state  law  authorized  their  employment. 
Trained  fighters  some  of  them,  others  were 
entirely  ignorant  of  the  work  except  as  they 
obeyed  orders.  The  narrow  fire  trail  led  zig- 
zag fashion  to  the  line  of  ragged  rocks  from 
among  which  rose  the  heavy  clouds  of  smoke, 

[333] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

and  up  it  the  patient  pack  horses  toiled,  loaded 
with  the  usual  equipment  of  blankets,  food, 
dynamite,  giant  powder,  shovels  and  axes,  grub 
hoes  and  mattocks,  collapsible  pails, — the  outfit 
of  the  forest  fire  fighters. 

On  one  side  the  fire  had  run  into  an  old  burn 
where,  five  years  before,  the  flames  had  been 
checked  by  a  timely  rain.  The  trees  were  still 
standing,  dry  as  old  bones,  as  were  the  fallen 
trunks  with  which  the  ground  was  strewn.  It 
might  burn  a  week,  as  Goss  well  knew,  until  it 
burned  itself  out,  and  without  serious  danger  to 
the  surrounding  forests  if  they  could  prevent  it 
from  getting  further  into  the  standing  timber. 

Men  with  shovels  and  grub  hoes  and  axes 
were  set  to  work  at  the  edge  of  the  burn,  and 
back  fires  started  from  the  fire  trenches.  The 
sparks  which  fell  outside  the  trench  were  vigor- 
ously stamped  out.  In  the  heat  of  the  August 
sun,  high  on  the  mountain  side,  with  no  water 
available  for  the  fire  and  none  too  much  for 
camp  needs,  the  new  men  began  their  work. 
Ellison's  men  were  worn  with  work  and  heat 
and  smoke.  The  reinforcements  were  none  too 
many.     So    they    fought   while    burning   trees 

[334] 


When  the  Forests  Burn 


crackled  and  snapped  within  the  fire  limit. 
They  had  almost  surrounded  the  fire.  Little 
real  anxiety  was  felt  because  it  was  an  old  story. 
They  could  win  if  the  wind  remained  quiet. 

But  a  light  breeze  one  morning  carried  the 
sparks  and  burning  branches  across  the  fire 
lines,  into  the  standing  timber  again.  For 
weeks  upon  weeks  no  rain  had  fallen  in  the 
mountains  and  every  slope  was  unusually  dry. 
Old  burns  were  like  tinder  boxes.  Once  into 
the  green  timber  again,  with  the  heat  of  the  fire 
behind  it,  the  fire  leaped  and  sprang  to  the  tree 
tops,  and  crackled  among  old  dead  trunks  and 
brush  on  the  ground.  More  help  was  asked  for, 
and  fifty  more  men  left  Illahee  for  the  Needles. 

Drawing  back  his  blackened  forces,  almost 
suffocated  with  the  dense  smoke  which  obscured 
everything  within  a  few  feet  of  them,  beyond 
which  the  red  flames  leaped  and  roared,  Goss 
began  a  movement  to  divert  the  fire.  A  square 
front  attack  was  of  no  value  now.  They  began 
new  fire  trenches  in  a  V  shape,  and  since  the  fire 
was  steadily  gaining  on  them,  dynamite  was 
used  more  freely.  With  crash  and  thunder  the 
upheaval  of  the  earth  formed  new  fire  trenches 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

while  the  concussion  of  the  explosion  acted  upon 
the  flames  like  a  breath  on  a  burning  candle 
wick.  Hour  after  hour  and  day  after  day  they 
fought,  almost  baked  by  the  heat  of  sun  and 
fire,  smothered  and  blinded  by  the  smoke, 
burned  and  blistered  by  the  falling  sparks  and 
burning  fragments. 

Yet  other  fires  were  reported,  and  new  men 
coming  to  relieve  those  who  had  worked  for 
days,  had  to  be  sent  to  the  new  danger  spots. 
Detailing  capable  men  to  take  charge  of  the  new 
fires,  Goss  turned  his  own  energies  to  the  fire 
which  still  defied  their  every  effort.  Day  by 
day  they  fought,  yet  the  fire  burned  stubbornly 
though  slowly,  the  sun  by  day  was  hidden 
through  the  clouds  of  smoke,  the  night  was  lurid 
with  the  red  light  of  the  flames.  Slowly  but 
surely  the  fire  seemed  to  gain.  Yet  there  was 
an  excellent  chance  of  succeeding  if  no  more 
new  fires  started. 

Then  a  new  danger  presented  itself.  To- 
ward the  east,  the  direction  in  which  the  fire 
burned  most  steadily,  there  was  a  sudden  break 
in  the  mountain  slope.  Some  great  upheaval 
had  split  off  the  shattered  rocks  so  that  for  two 

[336] 


When  the  Forests  Burn 


hundred  feet  the  mountain  dropped  sheer,  with 
only  a  stunted  cedar  or  fir  here  and  there,  with 
its  roots  fastened  into  the  rock.  The  danger 
was  imminent.  From  the  top  of  that  precipice 
the  flames  and  burning  branches  would,  with- 
out hindrance,  blow  off  into  the  heavy  forest 
below.  Once  ablaze  there,  little  could  stop  the 
spread  of  the  fire.  The  crash  of  dynamite  ex- 
plosions reverberated  incessantly  as  the  desperate 
men  tried  to  throw  up  a  fire  break  which  would 
prevent  the  flames  from  sweeping  to  the  edge 
of  the  precipice.  Messages  were  sent  to  Illa- 
hee  for  more  men.  Messages  indeed  from  all 
sections  had  come  over  the  forest  telephones 
and  by  word  of  mouth  as  well  for  more  men 
to  fight  the  fires  springing  up  here  and  there. 
Loggers,  millmen,  railroad  construction  crews, 
idlers, — every  one  under  the  law  of  the  state 
could,  in  the  emergency,  be  forced  to  fight  the 
fires. 

Fearing  a  possible  failure  to  prevent  the 
flames  from  reaching  the  edge,  Goss  with  men 
and  more  dynamite,  fell  back  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
below,  where  the  bed  of  a  tiny  creek,  almost  dry 
in    the    summer   heat,    formed    a    natural    fire 

[337] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

break.  Backed  by  this,  new  trenches  were 
blown  up  and  new  explosions  thundered  in  the 
face  of  the  approaching  fire.  But  the  crash  and 
thunder  only  mingled  diabolically  with  the  roar 
of  the  flames,  the  crackling  and  snapping  of 
burning  branches,  the  hissing  of  the  volcanoes 
of  sparks. 

The  breeze  grew  stronger  one  day.  The 
flames  on  the  mountain  forged  steadily  ahead, 
rising  at  length,  in  spite  of  fire  lines  and  the 
struggles  of  the  men,  sheer  from  the  top  of  the 
precipice.  The  sight  was  magnificent.  Leap- 
ing and  flaming  two  hundred  feet  in  air,  ex- 
ultant, triumphant,  the  roaring  demon  of  the 
hills  scattered  abroad  from  its  point  of  vantage 
a  flood  of  sparks  and  fire  into  the  tree  tops  be- 
low. Again  the  men  drew  back  and  endeavored 
to  make  a  fire  break.  They  were  almost  down 
to  Burnham's  cabin  now,  and  the  wind  had  risen 
still  more.  Fires  sprang  up  on  all  sides.  The 
smoke  grew  thicker  and  thicker,  the  air  stifling, 
the  men  were  blackened  and  scorched  and 
burned,  yet  doggedly  fighting  until  the  breeze 
became  a  gale,  blowing  before  it  a  shower  of 
fire.     Sheets  of  flame,  as  large  as  a  city  lot,  left 

[338] 


When  the  Forests  Burn 


the  main  fire  and  sailed  like  a  red  blanket  hun- 
dreds of  feet  through  the  air,  alighting  in  fresh 
patches  of  timber.  From  peak  to  peak,  in  the 
mountains  of  the  Northwest,  the  blaze  flashed, 
and  from  hill  to  hill,  overleaping  at  times,  the 
valley  below.  The  flames  swept  across  rivers 
hundreds  of  feet  wide.  The  sluggish  fires  in 
all  the  mountains  had  grown  into  solid  walls  of 
fire  two  to  five  miles  wide.  Far  to  the  west- 
ward on  Puget  Sound,  the  sun  shone  red  through 
clouds  of  smoke  from  the  burning  forests,  and 
fog  horns  of  ferry  boats  and  ocean  liners  sounded 
constantly  as  they  crept  cautiously  through  the 
pall  of  smoke  which  settled  down  on  the  water. 
Even  the  water  supply  of  Seattle  was  saved 
only  by  boring  inch  augur  holes  in  the  pipes 
where  they  crossed  ravines  on  wooden  trestles 
that  the  water,  bubbling  through  under  pres- 
sure, might  drench  pipe  covering  and  trestle. 
In  every  section  of  the  mountains,  the  fires, 
fanned  by  the  rising  wind,  burst  beyond  all  hu- 
man control.  Montana,  Idaho,  Washington, 
Oregon, — the  whole  Northwest  seemed  to  be  on 
fire. 
And  when  the  wind  rose  and  the  fight  was 
[339] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

futile,  Goss  gave  the  order;  "Save  the  men  and 
let  the  timber  go." 

Up  to  that  moment,  he  had  been  perfectly 
certain  that  the  women  homesteaders  were  out 
of  the  forest.  As  he  gave  the  order  there  came 
over  him,  from  somewhere, — he  never  knew 
how  or  whence — the  absolute  certainty  that  Jane 
Myers  was  in  her  cabin — and  in  danger. 

With  quick  orders  to  Ellison,  he  sprang  on 
Dick  and  dashed  down  the  trail.  The  men 
rushed  for  the  river.  Springing  into  it,  the 
most  of  them  saved  themselves.  One  group  of 
seven  or  eight  hesitated  a  moment  near  the  wa- 
ter. A  swirl  of  flame  swept  down  from  the 
trees  near  them,  killing  all  outright. 

Meanwhile,  Dennis,  with  thirty  men  had 
started  for  the  new  fire  which  young  Wyatt  had 
started  so  inopportunely.  It  was  the  old  story, 
a  rough  fire  trail  most  of  the  way  and  slow  prog- 
ress as  compared  with  the  direct  movement  of 
the  fire.  He,  as  well  as  Goss,  thought  not  only 
of  the  fire,  but  of  the  grim  results — whole  for- 
ests swept  away,  leaving  only  the  bare,  desolate 
mountain  side,   and  the  ground  covered  with 

[340] 


When  the  Forests  Burn 


blackened,  burned  tree  trunks  which  would  re- 
main there  for  years,  for  lack  of  adequate  Con- 
gressional appropriation,  the  worst  possible 
foothold  for  fire,  and  a  monument  to  the  waste- 
fulness of  the  American  people. 

Separating  his  men,  with  ten  below  and 
twenty  at  the  upper  end,  the  men  began  their 
work.  For  days  they  worked  and  with  the  fire 
well  surrounded  with  an  effective  fire  lane,  they 
felt  secure  though  their  efforts  might  not  relax 
for  the  wind  might  rise.  And  the  wind  did  rise. 
The  light  breeze  became  stronger,  then  almost 
a  gale. 

It  was  shortly  after  luncheon  that  those  on 
the  upper  end  of  the  fire  heard  below  them  a 
roaring  sound.  Before  they  could  realize  it, 
the  fire  had  cut  off  their  trail.  "Run,  boys!" 
shouted  Dennis,  nor  did  he  need  to  give  the  or- 
der a  second  time.  Of  the  men  on  the  lower 
end,  four  were  struck  by  falling  trees  which 
went  down  like  jackstraws  in  the  sudden  gale, 
and  others  were  suffocated  by  the  smoke  before 
the  fire  reached  them.  Those  on  the  upper  end 
of  the  fire  had  a  better  chance  of  escape,  yet  the 
blaze  came  upon  them  so  suddenly  that  it  was 

[341] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

hardly  a  moment  before  they  were  surrounded 
by  a  solid  mass  of  fire.  Dennis  saw  a  blur  in 
the  flames,  a  dark  spot.  It  was  his  only  hope. 
With  a  shout  to  the  others,  he  plunged  headlong 
through  the  wall  of  fire,  staggered  a  hundred 
feet  and  fell  in  a  patch  of  green  brush  not  yet 
burned.  Others  followed,  that  dark  blur  the 
only  chance  by  which  they  could  reach  a  creek 
near  by.  Wetting  his  coat  in  the  stream,  Den- 
nis wrapped  it  about  his  head,  but  the  steam 
later  on  scalded  his  neck. 

On  that  exposed  point,  the  wind  was  blowing 
a  hurricane.  Trees  three  and  four  feet  through 
snapped  off.  The  shoes  of  the  men  were  burned 
off.  In  the  two  hours  they  spent  in  the  water 
of  the  creek,  shallow  as  it  was,  they  had  to  turn 
constantly  to  keep  from  roasting  in  the  fearful 
heat,  breathing  through  their  steaming  coats. 
Tobacco  boxes  and  razors  in  their  pockets 
softened  and  broke  from  the  heat. 

Still  another  party,  under  a  deputy  ranger, 
fighting  a  small  blaze  when  the  wind  arose,  were 
ordered  up  to  a  higher  point  out  of  reach  of  the 
rapidly  advancing  fire.  By  midnight  that 
point  had  become  too  dangerous,  and  in  the  light 

[342] 


When  the  Forests  Burn 


of  the  fire,  the  men  scrambled  to  the  crest  of  the 
ridge,  expecting  to  pass  over  it,  but  only  to  be 
confronted  there  by  another  fire  sweeping  up  the 
mountain.  Seeing  their  position  hopeless,  they 
started  in  a  wild  stampede  in  the  face  of  the  fire 
for  the  creek  bottom  below,  through  the  stifling 
smoke  and  heat.  Some  ran  until  exhausted  and 
sank  without  a  sound.  Others,  in  the  wild  race 
for  life,  fell  over  logs  and  bowlders,  and  were 
suffocated  or  burned.  Several  succeeded  in 
reaching  the  creek  and  made  their  way  to  a  rail- 
road tunnel.  Two  blankets  they  had  with  them, 
though  many  had  thrown  aside  everything. 
The  men  took  turns  in  holding  the  blankets  over 
the  mouth  of  the  tunnel,  while  the  others  buried 
their  faces  in  the  earth.  Yet  in  spite  of  the  wet 
blankets  the  smoke  crept  in.  After  five  hours 
of  torment  in  the  gas-filled,  smoke-filled  tunnel, 
the  worst  of  the  fire  had  swept  by,  and  those 
who  still  lived,  after  burying  the  dead,  trailed 
their  difficult  way  back  to  safety. 

A  few  miles  from  Illahee  inexperienced  men 
who  were  fighting  the  fires  were  ordered  to 
leave  and  go  into  the  town.  The  fires  were 
threatening.     Fire  fighting  made  no  impression 

[343] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

and  the  wind  was  rising.  Worn  out  by  three  days 
of  ceaseless  work  and  believing  they  were  as 
safe  as  at  Illahee,  many  stayed  in  their  camp. 
An  hour  later  fire  swept  up  the  canon,  cutting 
off  all  possible  escape.  Two  days  later,  rescue 
parties  found  fourteen  bodies,  a  mile  from  the 
camp,  together.  Nine  others  lay  where  they 
had  fallen  in  the  last  mad  rush  for  safety. 
Where  the  tents  had  stood  lay  the  body  of  one 
old  man  with  his  dog.  Escape  was  hopeless. 
They  had  died  together.  And  when  the  rescue 
party  found  them,  the  forest  ranger  read  a 
simple  service  at  the  graves  of  the  dead,  while 
blackened,  begrimed  fire  fighters  beside  him 
stood  with  uncovered  heads. 

Throughout  the  Northwest  an  army  of  over 
eight  thousand  men  were  fighting  the  forest 
fires — fighting  fires  which  defied  all  resistance, 
rushing  along  under  a  heavy  gale.  Up  and 
down  gulches,  across  mountains,  over  deep  ra- 
vines they  rushed  leaving  only  death  in  their 
trail.  The  flames  swept  through  the  mountains 
with  the  speed  of  an  express  train.  The  de- 
feated fire  fighters  had  no  chance  to  flee  for  their 
lives.     Of  one  party  of  forty-one,  only  twenty- 

[344] 


When  the  Forests  Burn 


nine  came  out  alive,  and  that  included  men 
with  broken  legs  and  arms,  their  whole  bodies 
scorched  and  seared,  and  many  blinded  for  life. 
Rescue  parties  went  over  trails  so  rough  that 
when  they  reached  the  refugees,  the  rescuers 
had  to  be  cared  for  by  the  men  whom  they  had 
come  to  help. 

In  the  need  for  men,  the  government  ordered 
out  the  national  troops,  yet  they  could  do  but 
little  besides  aid  in  the  work  of  rescue.  Even 
in  that,  the  obstacles  were  terrific.  Smoke  like 
that  belched  from  volcanoes  covered  an  area  of 
a  hundred  thousand  square  miles.  The  trails 
were  gone.  Great  trees  were  uprooted  by  the 
gale,  and  the  soil  was  covered  deep  with  ashes. 
The  bridges  were  gone  and  the  little  stations 
here  and  there  wiped  out.  The  whole  face  of 
the  country  had  changed.  Great  green-clad 
slopes  of  forest  trees  had  vanished  in  bursts  of 
flame  and  smoke,  leaving  behind  only  blackness 
and  desolation. 


[345] 


CHAPTER  XXII 

FIRE  AND  WATER 

"T  WISH  I  knew  what  to  do!"  It  was  the 
-■*  fortieth  time  that  Jane  Myers  had  said 
the  same  thing  within  forty-eight  hours.  Day 
after  day  the  dull  pall  of  smoke  had  hung  over 
the  forests  of  the  Illahee,  drifting  a  little  here 
and  there,  then  settling  down  under  the  lofty 
green  crests  of  the  tree  trunks.  The  fire  might 
be  sixty  or  seventy  miles  away,  Jane  thought, 
remembering  some  statements  Goss  had  made 
about  the  smoke  drifting  long  distances.  There 
was  no  breeze,  so  there  was  probably  no  danger. 
It  might  be  merely  a  fire  in  some  slashing,  far 
away  over  the  mountains.  The  Widdy  had 
said  there  was  no  danger.  The  forester  and  the 
mill  owner  she  had  not  seen  for  weeks,  but  that 
did  not  disturb  her.  Even  if  there  were  no 
danger,  she  knew  that  both  were  busy  guarding 
their  varied  interests  against  the  possibility  of 

[346] 


Fire  and  Water 


fire.  Yet  again  and  again  she  voiced  her  own 
fears, — "I  wish  I  knew  what  to  do!" 

If  it  had  occurred  to  her  to  go  down  the  trail 
to  where  it  joined  the  main  trail  up  the  valley, 
she  might  have  met  the  trains  of  pack  horses 
fording  Thunder  Creek — pack  horses  loaded 
with  dynamite,  food,  spades,  blankets,  tents,  all 
the  needs  of  the  fire  fighters  farther  up  the  val- 
ley. Such  a  venture  never  occurred  to  her. 
She  had  no  pony,  and  to  attempt  to  walk  the 
twenty  miles  to  Illahee  over  a  trail  she  had 
seen  but  once,  perhaps  to  walk  directly  toward 
the  fire — she  went  over  the  possibility  again  and 
again.  Each  time  she  decided  against  the  jour- 
ney. 

Yet  day  after  day  as  the  sun  crossed  the  open 
stretch  of  sky  over  the  creek,  showing  blood  red 
through  the  smoke,  and  as  occasional  showers 
of  fine  white  ashes  sifted  down  through  the 
openings  in  the  trees,  the  homesteader  wished 
most  heartily  that  she  had  gone  into  town  with 
the  Widdy.  Her  terror  of  the  winter  before 
came  back  to  her.  She  was  afraid  to  stay,  and 
afraid  to  go. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  smoke  grew  denser 
[347] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

and  blacker.  It  might  be  that  it  was  the  cumu- 
lation of  days  of  smoke  from  some  burning 
slashing.  It  might  be  that  there  was  a  slight 
breeze  which  blew  the  smoke  toward  her.  Or 
else  it  might  be  that  the  long  irritation  of  the 
pungent,  stinging  smoke  had  made  her  eyes  un- 
usually tender  and  her  throat  sore.  She  tried 
hard  to  reason  it  out,  and  to  conquer  her  own 
growing  sense  of  horror.  The  nights  were  to  be 
dreaded.  The  weird,  yellow  daylight  brought 
no  repose. 

But  there  came  a  day  when  the  smoke  was 
perceptibly  thicker.  She  felt  suffocated;  on 
her  chest  was  a  great  weight.  Her  eyes  smarted 
and  watered,  while  her  throat  was  raw.  The 
red  ball  in  the  heavens  was  a  duller,  darker  red, 
and  the  yellow  light  was  thicker  and  blacker. 
Could  it  be  that  the  fire  was  coming  nearer? 
And  up  in  the  mountains  the  men  fighting  the 
fire  found  that  the  burning  twigs  set  new  spots 
afire,  even  before  they  had  begun  their  task 
of  extinguishing  those  already  burning.  There 
were  thirty-seven  fires  in  that  reserve. 

The  next  morning,  Jane  cooked  her  light 
breakfast  at  nine  o'clock  by  lamplight.     Food 

t348] 


Fire  and  Water 


was  the  last  thing  she  cared  for,  but  she  knew  if 
fire  did  come,  she  would  need  every  ounce  of 
strength.  Then  she  began  to  consider  flight. 
But  where?  In  what  direction  was  the  fire? 
If  worst  came  to  worst,  she  realized  that  at  the 
last  moment  she  could  slip  into  the  creek,  yet  it 
suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  even  that  would 
be  a  dangerous  place  if  the  trees  on  both  sides 
the  creek  were  afire.  She  had  not  thought  of 
that  before.  The  water  had  seemed  so  cold  and 
deep.  She  picked  up  the  pail  and  went  to  the 
creek  for  water.  The  darkness  was  terrifying, 
but  another  light  sound  froze  her  with  horror. 
It  was  the  murmur  of  the  wind  through  the  tree- 
tops. 

Going  back  to  the  house,  and  opening  her 
trunk  with  a  thought  of  saving  something,  per- 
haps, her  eye  fell  on  an  old  leather  shopping 
bag,  with  draw-strings  at  the  top.  Just  the 
thing!  The  flexible  leather  draw-strings  would 
slip  over  her  wrist. 

She  turned  from  the  trunk  and  quickly  packed 
a  supply  of  boiled  ham,  cakes  of  chocolate,  two 
tins  of  sardines,  and  a  hard-boiled  tgg  into 
the  bag.     With  quick  motions  she  slipped  into 

[349] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

her  old  flannel  gymnasium  suit,  put  on  her  high 
boots,  and  went  to  the  doorway.  Beyond  pro- 
viding herself  with  food,  the  girl  had  little  idea 
what  to  do. 

The  breeze  had  increased  and  through  the 
tree  tops  now  there  came  the  deep  organ-roll 
of  a  strong  wind.  The  ashes  were  sifting  down 
in  a  perfect  rain.  It  was  broad  noon,  but  dim 
and  gray  and  somber.  A  splash  of  feet  in  the 
water  of  the  creek  as  she  stood  out  on  the  trail, 
her  bag  of  food  in  one  hand,  the  water  pail  in 
the  other,  startled  her.  Two  deer  fled  past  her. 
A  moment  later  a  young  fawn,  trembling  with 
fear,  sprang  toward  her  and  rubbed  its  head 
against  her.  Rabbits  and  squirrels  and  other 
wild  creatures,  even  a  lumbering  bear,  crossed 
and  recrossed  the  trail  without  fear  of  man. 
Jane  knew  well  what  that  meant.  Shaking  but 
determined,  she  sprang  to  the  creek,  laying  the 
bag  of  food  on  the  bank,  and  kneeling  in  the 
water,  poured  bucket  full  after  bucket  full  of 
the  icy  water  over  her  head  and  shoulders. 
With  chattering  teeth  and  full  bucket  she 
stepped  back  on  the  trail.  It  was  high  time  for 
flight.     The   wind   was   crashing   through   the 


Fire  and  Water 


trees  above.  In  the  gloom  she  tried  to  see  some 
trace  of  fire.  In  what  direction  should  she 
flee?  The  smoke  was  reddish  now,  but  where 
was  the  fire?  The  sudden  crack  of  a  revolver 
sounded  close  by  and  her  heart  stood  still. 

Down  the  main  trail  and  up  the  trail  by 
Thunder  Creek,  man  and  horse  blinded  by 
smoke  and  shaking  with  exhaustion,  came  Dick 
and  Goss  on  their  last  journey  to  the  little  cabin. 
A  stumble  near  the  top  of  the  old  Douglas  fir, 
a  fall, — and  Dick  made  no  effort  to  rise. 

"Good-by,  old  fellow,"  and  Goss  drew  his  re- 
volver. One  shot  in  the  head  of  the  faithful 
animal,  and  Goss  on  foot  sprang  up  the  trail. 

At  that  moment,  Jane,  stupefied  with  horror, 
saw  a  red  glow  in  the  trees  beyond  the  Widdy's 
cabin.  The  fire  was  upon  her.  The  next,  a 
figure  came  flying  toward  her. 

"Jane!  Run  for  your  life!  The  pond!"  A 
hoarse  whisper  from  a  dried  throat.  Again 
Goss  had  come  to  her  at  the  supreme  moment  of 
her  greatest  need. 

"Wait!"  she  said  imperatively,  and  picking 
up  the  bucket  she  threw  the  icy  water  over  his 
head  and  shoulders.     He  said  afterwards  it  was 

[351] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

his  salvation.  Flinging  the  bucket  away,  both 
dashed  for  the  pond,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away, 
over  Jane's  much-prized  trail. 

It  was  the  broad  highway  of  life  to  the  fleeing 
couple  that  day,  and  though  every  sense  was 
dulled  in  the  terror  of  the  moment  Jane  had 
an  indistinct  consciousness  that  that  trail  was  a 
good  piece  of  work.  Not  a  vine  had  she  left 
crossing  it  to  trip  them  now  in  their  mad  flight. 
Deeper  and  deeper  grew  the  red  spot  in  the  for- 
est, and  then  the  flames  showed  on  the  other  side. 
Before  half  the  distance  was  gone,  both  knew 
that  the  forest  behind  them  was  ablaze. 

Up  the  trail,  five  minutes  after  Goss,  stag- 
gered a  human  figure,  panting,  exhausted, 
tattered,  blackened,  and  choked.  Where  he 
came  from,  why  he  came,  no  one  ever  knew. 
Perhaps  some  memory  of  a  kindness, — some 
thought  of  warning  her.  But  the  flames  were 
too  close  and  the  wind  too  high.  The  forest 
was  blazing  around  him,  as  the  squatter 
staggered  against  Dick's  outstretched  hoof. 
Too  late!  With  the  flames  sweeping  down  on 
all  sides  of  him,  even  the  creek  cut  off,  the  squat- 
ter drew  his  revolver.     There  was  a  single  shot. 

[  35*1 


Fire  and  Water 


The  silent  figure  never  knew  when  the  fire  swept 
over  him. 

Brighter  and  brighter  grew  the  light  around 
the  forester  and  Jane  as  they  plunged  on,  until, 
with  a  sudden  turn  of  the  trail,  they  dashed  into 
the  water  of  the  little  lake  just  as  the  fire,  crac- 
kling and  snapping  at  their  heels,  swept  across 
the  trail  behind  them.  A  swirl  of  flame  sprang 
after  them. 

Neither  had  the  slightest  idea  of  the  depth  of 
the  lake,  but  a  hundred  feet  and  more  they 
dashed  before  checking  their  speed.  Not  even 
yet  were  they  out  of  danger  from  the  flames. 
On  every  side  of  the  pond,  with  magnificent 
splendor,  rose  the  sheets  of  flame  hundreds  of 
feet  in  air.  The  forest  tangle  was  a  furnace. 
The  fierce  heat  was  terrible.  Again  and  again 
they  plunged  beneath  the  surface  of  the  water. 
From  the  precipice  above  burning  branches  and 
entire  trees,  ablaze  from  end  to  end,  crashed,  un- 
der the  high  wind,  into  the  water.  The  thick, 
smoky  air  scintillated  with  burning  twigs  and 
red  hot  cinders  which  rained  down  upon  the 
refugees.  On  the  west  side,  the  high  wind 
drove   the  flames   far  out  over  the  tiny  lake. 

[353] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

Faint  with  exertion  and  with  fear,  the  two  care- 
fully felt  their  way  farther  and  farther  into  the 
center  of  the  lake.  Goss  knew  well  that  some 
of  the  small  mountain  lakes,  narrow  in  width, 
were  immensely  deep  holes, — hundreds  of  feet 
deep  sometimes.  Cautiously,  carefully,  hold- 
ing to  each  other,  they  crept  on  as  far  as  they 
dared,  standing  to  their  necks  in  water,  and 
breathing  the  air  of  a  furnace.  The  water,  cold 
when  they  entered  it,  became  steadily  warmer. 
Two  of  the  creeks  feeding  it  were  actually  boil- 
ing from  the  heat  of  the  flames  of  burning  trees 
and  brush  along  its  bank.  Fish  were  not  only 
killed  by  the  heat,  but  literally  cooked. 

The  hot  air,  the  warm  water,  the  sweep  and 
swirl  of  the  flames,  the  crash  of  the  falling  trees 
were  horrible. 

Jane,  but  for  the  strong  grip  of  the  man  be- 
side her,  would  have  slipped  under  the  water.  In 
the  fierce  glow  she  could  see  him  now,  and  had 
she  not  known  who  he  was,  she  would  have  been 
thoroughly  frightened.  With  coat  half  burned 
off,  and  shirt  half  torn  off,  without  a  vestige  of 
a  collar,  blackened  and  scorched  and  burned, 
Goss  looked  little  like  a  woman's  protector. 

[354] 


Fire  and  Water 


Crash  after  crash  startled  them  as  the  burning 
trees  fell,  some  into  the  water,  throwing  up 
great  waves,  others  across  the  creek,  others, 
again,  into  the  forests.  The  great  trees  burned 
as  though  they  were  dry  match  sticks. 

It  was  late  afternoon  before  either  of  them 
realized  that  the  inferno  around  them  had  les- 
sened slightly  in  its  volume,  and  that  the  force  of 
the  fire,  with  diminished  fuel,  was  slackening. 
There  was  still  danger  from  the  falling  trees, 
crashing  down  in  the  high  wind,  if  they  crept 
too  near  the  shore,  and  the  heat  was  still  un- 
bearable, but  Goss  felt,  rather  than  saw,  in  the 
firelight  that  Jane  was  ready  to  fall. 

"Shall  we  try  to  get  in  nearer  shore?"  he 
asked.  "Over  there  toward  the  right.  The 
wind  is  blowing  away  from  us  and  the  trees  will 
fall  in  the  other  direction." 

The  best  they  dared  was  to  go  as  near  the 
shore  as  they  could  stand  the  heat  and  sit 
down  in  the  shallower  water.  The  swinging 
of  the  lunch  bag,  as  she  sat  down,  reminded  Jane 
of  her  one  treasure  saved  from  the  flames.  It 
was  full  of  water,  of  course,  but  she  had  taken 
the  precaution,  vaguely,  to  put  in  food  which 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

would  not  be  seriously  injured  by  it.  It  was 
needed  now. 

Early  dawn  had  come  and  the  terrific  fire  had 
burned  nearly  eighteen  hours,  before  they  dared 
leave  the  safety  of  the  water  and  go  ashore  at 
the  edge  of  the  forest.  But  there  was  no  longer 
any  forest.  There  were  only  the  black,  bare, 
charred  stubs  of  trees,  still  blazing  fitfully 
whether  on  the  ground  or  standing.  The  land- 
scape was  as  black  as  though  ink  had  been 
poured  over  it,  with  only  the  gleams  of  red  to 
lighten  the  dull  gloom  of  the  smoke.  What  the 
blaze  itself  had  not  actually  burned,  the  intense 
heat  had  utterly  destroyed.  The  trees  were  still 
falling. 

"I  think,"  said  Jane,  as  she  looked  about  her 
after  that  endless  night,  when  a  dull  light  shone 
through  the  ruins,  and  the  sun,  blood  red 
through  the  smoke,  could  be  seen,  "that  we  had 
better  try  to  get  out  by  way  of  the  creek." 

"It  will  be  impassable  I  know.  Too  many 
burning  trees  will  be  stretched  across  it." 

Yet  they  walked  in  the  shallow  water,  turn- 
ing out  every  now  and  then  to  go  around  a 
fallen  tree,  toward  the  outlet  of  the  lake.     It 

[356] 


Fire  and  Water 


was  completely  blocked  by  fallen  stubs,  still 
burning. 

"What  shall  we  do,  Mr.  Goss?"  For  the 
first  time  Jane  was  on  the  verge  of  tears. 
"Shall  we  start  for  Illahee?  Where  shall  we 
go?" 

"I  am  not  sure,  Jane,"  he  said  slowly,  "that 
there  is  any  Illahee  to  go  to.  I  think  everything 
has  gone  up  in  the  flames  driven  by  this  wind. 
And  the  trees  are  still  falling.  But  we  might 
go  down  to  the  site  of  the  cabins.  The  Service 
will  send  out  men  as  soon  as  possible  to  pick  up 
refugees — and  bury  the  dead,"  he  added  half 
under  his  breath.  "They  would  find  us  more 
readily  there." 

The  earth  was  still  hot  as  they  began  to  pick 
their  way  cautiously  through  the  burning  stubs. 
A  crash  before  or  behind  warned  them  of  the 
risk  they  ran.  Yet  it  was  still  more  of  a  risk  to 
remain  off  the  trail  of  the  searching  parties. 

One  whole  hour  of  careful  walking  it  took 
them  to  regain  the  site  of  the  cabins.  A  few 
charred  stumps,  a  few  burning  log  ends — that 
was  all  that  remained  of  Jane's  cabin.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  creek  were  a  few  more  charred 

t357] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

stumps  and  a  few  more  half-burned  log  ends — 
that  was  all.  Jane  glanced  up  the  stream  for- 
merly bordered  with  trees  to  the  very  water's 
edge.  Charred  black  stubs  stood  upright  by 
the  stream;  the  blackened  ground  was  covered 
with  other  black  charred  stubs.  The  desolation 
was  complete.  The  streaming  sunshine  beamed 
down  from  smoky,  grayish-blue  sky,  revealing 
grim,  dreary  stretches  of  smoking  mountain 
side,  bare  and  cheerless,  with  only  those  gaunt 
black  stubs  of  a  once  beautiful  forest. 

The  shrunken,  charred  trunk  of  the  great 
Douglas  fir  still  smoldered.  The  sight  of  it 
brought  back  to  Goss  the  memory  of  Dick. 
The  heart-sickening  desolation  of  the  place 
made  it  impossible  to  stay  there. 

"We  had  better  go  down  to  the  main  trail," 
he  said,  hoping  Jane  would  not  see  the  blackened 
mass  at  the  end  of  the  fallen  fir.  Trying  to 
keep  himself  between  it  and  her,  and  to  distract 
her  attention,  he  asked  her  for  the  first  time  why 
she  had  disregarded  his  warning  and  stayed  at 
the  cabin.  "Though  to  be  sure,"  he  added,  "I 
do  not  know  that  you  would  have  been  any  safer 
at  Illahee  than  you  were  here." 

[358] 


Fire  and  Water 


The  girl  glanced  up  at  him  quickly,  only  to 
let  her  eyes  follow  his  as  he  studied  intently 
something  lying  beside  the  bones  of  the  horse. 
A  horse's  hoof  first  caught  her  attention, — then 
a  blackened  human  skull. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  horror,  and 
Goss  hurried  her  past. 

"A  horse  and  rider?"  she  asked  a  few  min- 
utes later. 

"No,  the  horse  was  Dick.  He  fell  at  the  last 
moment  and  I  had  to  shoot  him."  She  remem- 
bered the  faint  crack  of  the  revolver. 

"And  the  man?" 

"I  don't  know." 

The  same  chill  of  fear  struck  them  both. 
Could  it  have  been  Burnham?  It  must  have 
been  some  one  who  came  after  Goss  reached 
there.  Who  else  would  risk  his  life  in  an  at- 
tempt to  save  her?  Goss  thought  hurriedly. 
Burnham  had  been  sent,  with  his  cfew,  up  on 
one  of  the  higher  mountains.  Could  he  have 
given  up  the  fight,  when  the  wind  rose  and  he 
saw  the  futility  of  it,  and  tried  to  reach  Jane? 
If  not,  had  he  been  overtaken  up  on  the  moun- 
tain side  by  the  flames?     Might  he  not  be  lying 

[359] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

there  now  dead  or  in  need  of  help?  He  tried 
to  put  his  fears  away.  Burnham  was  a  trained 
forester,  an  experienced  fire  fighter,  and  a  man 
of  good  judgment.  He  must  have  saved  him- 
self.    But  who  was  this  man? 

From  the  fallen  trunks  came  flashes  of  fire 
and  long  wreaths  of  blue  smoke  as  the  two 
picked  their  way  amid  endless  dangers  toward 
the  main  trail,  half  a  mile  below.  But  the  trail 
had  vanished.  The  blazed  trees  were  down, 
burned  or  burning,  and  of  course  the  under- 
brush was  gone.  Fallen  trees  in  every  direction 
blotted  out  all  semblance  of  direction.  Only 
the  crash  of  the  waters  of  Thunder  Creek  pre- 
vented them  from  being  utterly  bewildered  and 
lost. 

Goss  hesitated  as  to  their  next  move. 
There  was  danger  yet  of  fire.  Left  to  itself, 
there  would  have  been  only  smoldering  stumps, 
but  the  wind  kept  the  trees  still  ablaze.  Fire 
eating  at  the  roots  weakened  the  trees  and  even 
a  slight  wind  would  blow  them  down.  He  be- 
gan to  be  sorry  they  had  left  the  lake.  They 
were  safer  there.  To  leave  Thunder  Creek  and 
start  on  that  twenty-mile  walk  toward  Illahee 

[360] 


Fire  and  Water 


was  to  risk  much.     To  stay  where  they  were 
was  to  risk  starvation  and  broken  limbs. 

"I  believe,"  he  said  at  last,  and  the  crash  of  a 
tree  emphasized  his  words,  "that  we  would  do 
better  to  go  straight  down  to  the  river  and  try 
to  follow  the  shore  to  Illahee.  I  am  not  sure 
we  can  do  it,  but  we  cannot  follow  any  trail." 

The  decision  was  a  wise  one,  even  though  he 
did  not  know  that  the  debris  of  the  avalanche 
was  still  a  fiery  furnace  as  the  tangled  mass  of 
trees  and  stumps,  dried  by  long  exposure  to  sun 
and  air,  roared  and  blazed  and  crackled,  im- 
passable for  refugees  or  for  the  men  of  the  for- 
estry service. 

By  the  time  they  reached  the  river,  two  miles 
further,  night  had  fallen,  and  again  they 
camped  on  blackened,  burned  ground,  by  the 
side  of  the  water,  with  the  smoldering  trees 
gleaming  in  the  settling  darkness.  The  wind 
had  died  down. 

The  wretchedness  of  that  night  Jane  never 
forgot.  With  the  dying  out  of  the  gale,  came 
the  gray,  somber  skies,  and  sudden  coolness.  In 
the  higher  mountains  it  was  below  freezing, 
though  only  the  latter  part  of  August.     Light 

[361] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

snow  flurries  deadened  slightly  the  fires  on  the 
peaks.  Chilled  to  the  bone  by  damp  clothes, 
irritated  by  the  smoke  of  ruins  which  now  gave 
out  no  heat,  they  endured  the  night  as  best  they 
could.  The  next  morning  they  ate  the  last  of 
their  food — the  two  cakes  of  chocolate.  It  was 
forty  hours  since  the  fire  had  come  down  upon 
them  and  they  were  still  twenty  miles  from  Illa- 
hee. 

At  daybreak  they  began  their  effort  to  work 
their  way  along  the  shore.  Dodging  the  falling 
branches,  on  the  alert  for  falling  trees,  part  of 
the  time  in  the  water,  or  again  painfully  climb- 
ing over  rocky  cliffs  far  above  it,  avoiding  the 
charred  logs,  still  smoldering  and  flickering, 
lying  above  the  water  on  the  shore,  or  climb- 
ing them,  slowly  and  painfully  they  made  their 
way  down  the  river.  The  bridge  was  burned, 
they  found.  They  had  expected  it.  Early  in 
the  afternoon  they  reached  a  point  near  the 
avalanche,  which  rained  down  upon  them  a 
shower  of  sparks  and  hot  ashes.  Blasts  of  hot 
air  and  clouds  of  thick  smoke  swept  down  upon 
them.  The  twisted,  tangled  wreckage  of  that 
avalanche  burned  for  days. 

[362] 


Fire  and  Water 


On  they  struggled  until  Jane  broke  the  si- 
lence. "I  think  I  shall  have  to  stop — a  while. 
You  go  on." 

"I  shall  stay  with  you.  They  will  find  us,  I 
am  sure."  He  spoke  as  cheerfully  as  he  could, 
as  he  realized  that  hardly  more  than  ten  miles 
had  been  made  in  as  many  hours,  and  that  they 
were  without  food. 

Again,  after  a  rest,  they  made  another  effort. 
Beyond  a  projecting  point  of  rock  which  would 
carry  them  into  rather  deep  water,  Goss  heard 
a  splashing.  He  wondered  if  there  could  be 
falls  there — or  rapids.  Before  going  to  that 
depth  it  would  be  better  to  know.  He  listened 
again  to  the  steady  splashing — and  suddenly 
around  the  rocks  came  the  men  sent  out  by  the 
Service. 

Gates  sprang  from  his  horse  with  an  exclama- 
tion of  surprise.  A  shout  went  up  as  the  men 
recognized  Goss. 

"Is  Burnham  safe?"  was  his  first  question. 
The  horror  of  that  blackened  skull  had  stayed 
with  him. 

"He  was  yesterday — he 's  in  charge  of  the 
water  flume  at  Illahee." 

[363] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"And  the  men  with  me?  They  went  for  the 
river." 

"Most  have  come  in — came  down  the  river. 
Any  one  else  up  here  that  you  know  of?  Or 
any  dead?" 

"One  dead — I  don't  know  who — at  the  cabins 
on  Thunder  Creek.     Did  they  save  the  town?" 

"All  but  the  outlying  houses.  One  of  the 
mills  burned." 

Gates  had  pulled  out  some  provisions  while 
he  spoke.  Two  horses  were  taken  out  of  the 
pack  train,  and  a  guide  detailed  to  get  the  refu- 
gees to  safety.  He  passed  on  with  his  rescue 
party.  There  probably  were  others  somewhere 
up  among  those  blackened  tree  trunks.  It  was 
his  work  now  to  rescue  the  living  and  bury  the 
dead.  They  were  buried  where  they  fell  and 
often  no  identification  was  possible.  The  work 
of  the  flames  had  been  too  thorough. 

It  was  full  night  when  they  reached  Illahee, 
to  find  the  town  still  in  excitement.  The  wind 
had  died  down  but  the  forests  were  still  burn- 
ing. Men  were  wearied  of  the  struggle,  and 
red-lidded,  blackened,  with  scorched  beards  and 
singed  eyebrows,  they  tried  to  board  the  trains. 

[  364  1 


Fire  and  Water 


Revolvers  were  brought  into  play.  Men  must 
stay.  The  town  was  doomed  unless  every  able- 
bodied  man  stayed  there  to  fight  the  fire. 

Alive  to  the  danger,  Goss  sprang  from  his 
horse,  alighting  on  an  old  broom  handle. 
Without  a  sound  he  went  down  into  a  heap  on 
the  ground.  An  effort  to  pick  himself  up,  and 
down  he  went  again! 

"Sprained  ankle,  I  guess,"  said  the  guide. 
"Pick  him  up,  men,  and  get  him  on  the  train. 
Quick!     This  woman,  too." 

There  was  a  clang  of  bells  and  whistle  as  two 
men  helped  their  guide  pick  up  the  forester  and 
ran  as  rapidly  as  possible  toward  the  train  on  a 
siding,  The  nearest  car  was  a  box  car  and 
into  it  they  pushed  him.  Another  helped  Jane 
through  the  unprotected  door,  and  before  she 
could  draw  a  breath  the  train  was  in  motion. 

In  the  darkness  of  the  night,  the  burning 
trees  on  the  mountains  twinkled  amidst  the 
smoke  like  the  lights  of  a  city,  but  toward  the 
west,  over  the  crown  of  a  hill,  came  the  ruddy 
glow  and  long  streaks  of  flame  as  the  blaze 
leaped  high  among  trees. 

Day  coaches  and  box  cars  were  crowded  with 

[365] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

their  human  freight.  Standing,  the  refugees 
were  packed  tight  in  the  freight  cars  until, 
through  the  smoke  and  glare  and  danger,  the 
train  reached  Tyee.  Many  preferred  to  wait 
there  until  the  fate  of  Illahee  should  be  settled. 
The  rest,  sitting  or  stretched  out  on  the  floor, 
sped  through  the  darkness,  out  from  the  moun- 
tains and  the  forests,  over  the  stretches  of  sand 
and  sagebrush,  toward  the  city  of  refuge. 


[366] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ILLAHEE 

THE  Widdy  was  thoughtful  on  that  twenty- 
mile  ride  to  Illahee  except  as  she  broke  the 
stillness  to  ask  about  the  fire.  Forest  dweller 
though  she  was,  and  accustomed  to  see  the  smoke 
of  forest  fires,  heretofore  they  had  been  small 
fires  and  easily  conquered.  But  this  year  the 
summer  had  been  unusually  dry,  there  were 
more  fires  in  the  slashing  than  usual,  and  she 
had  lived  in  the  mountains  long  enough  to  know 
the  horrors  that  were  possible  if  the  wind  rose. 

"Where's  the  worst  blaze?"  she  asked  a  fire 
guard  as  she  rounded  the  trail  above  the  debris 
from  the  avalanche. 

"Started  over  on  the  Needles — it's  burning 
from  there."  The  Widdy  tightened  her  lips. 
The  Needles  were  inaccessible  except  by  trails 
which  turned  and  doubled  on  themselves  so  that 
a  man  would  need  to  go  five  miles  while  a  fire 
v.^nt  one. 

[367] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"It  must  be  burnin'  somewhere  else,  too." 
The  air  was  thick  with  pungent,  acrid  smoke. 

"They's  eight  fires  going  now — but  they's 
little  fellows.     They  '11  put  'em  out  easy." 

The  Widdy  reined  in  her  pony  and  looked 
down  over  the  tangle  of  logs  and  branches  im- 
mediately below  her.  She  thought  of  the  girl 
in  the  little  cabin  by  the  creek. 

"Mother  Mary  hilp  her  if  that  gits  afire," 
she  said. 

Sally  was  sick  and  Pat  was  cross,  and  between 
the  domestic  wrangling  and  fretful  children,  the 
Widdy  had  her  hands  full  for  a  few  days.  But 
the  smoke  grew  thicker  and  thicker.  The  chil- 
dren complained  because  their  eyes  hurt  them 
and  their  throats  were  sore.  Everywhere  was 
the  smell  of  the  burning.  The  men  of  the  town 
looked  grave.  A  ranger  with  his  men  went 
two  miles  above  the  town  to  protect  the  water 
supply.  The  brush  was  chopped  away  from 
every  foot  of  the  flumes  to  the  point  where  it 
entered  the  town.  It  was  reported  that  the 
flames  were  in  the  forests  west  of  the  town. 

By  three  o'clock  one  afternoon  the  pall  of 
smoke  overhanging  the  little  mill  town  was  so 

[368] 


Illahee 


dense  that  electric  lights  were  turned  on. 
Many  women  packed  their  belongings  hastily,  in 
bundles  or  in  suitcases,  and  with  their  children 
made  for  the  railroad  station.  Sally  and  the 
two  younger  children  left  that  afternoon  in  a 
box  car.  Men  who  made  for  the  trains  were 
met  with  cocked  pistols  and  ordered  back  to 
fight  the  fire,  and  save  their  homes.  The 
Widdy  and  Sam  stayed  to  help  Pat.  As  dusk 
fell,  the  lurid  light  of  the  heavens  silhouetted 
the  black  houses  against  the  brilliant  light. 
Until  dawn  the  men  worked  hurriedly  digging 
trenches  and  fire  breaks  west  of  the  town.  Still 
there  was  hope  for  there  was  no  wind. 

Dawn  came  in  cloudy  darkness  and  the  rising 
sun  shone  with  a  ghastly  yellow  light  through 
the  thick  air.  The  fire  was  creeping  nearer. 
The  Widdy,  like  many  another  woman,  under- 
took to  protect  her  house.  The  men  must  fight 
the  fire  at  the  edge  of  town. 

As  the  darkness  lightened  and  the  thick  smoke 
rolled  down,  the  first  crest  of  flame  came  over 
the  mountain  side.  Again  there  was  a  rush  for 
the  cars  and  again  the  men  who  fled  were  met 
with  cocked  revolvers. 

[369] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

The  Widdy  rushed  down  the  street  into  the 
hardware  store.  A  single  piece  of  hose  lay  on 
the  floor  near  the  door.  Picking  it  up,  and 
noting  that  the  couplings  were  attached  the  ac- 
tive old  woman  started  for  the  door. 

"Pay  yer  whin  the  fire  is  out,"  she  shouted 
over  her  shoulder,  and  dashed  up  the  street. 

Back  up  the  sawdust  paved  street,  it  took 
the  quick-motioned  little  woman  only  a  moment 
to  attach  the  hose  to  her  neighbor's  faucet  and 
climb  the  ridge  comb  of  the  house,  while  Sam 
turned  on  the  water  from  below.  On  all  sides 
every  available  piece  of  hose  was  brought  into 
play  for  the  roofs  and  exposed  sides  of  build- 
ings, while  up  on  the  mountain  side  to  the  west, 
magnificent  yet  horrible,  the  flames  sprang  high 
in  air,  greedily  licking  up  the  tall  trees,  send- 
ing down  showers  of  sparks  and  burning  twigs 
upon  the  steaming,  scorching  buildings  of  the 
little  town  below. 

Sickened  with  the  heat,  appalled  by  the  prog- 
ress of  the  flames  whose  flaring  light  shone 
through  the  clouds  of  dense  smoke,  almost  suf- 
focated with  the  acrid  air,  the  Widdy  sat  there, 

[370] 


Illahee 


as  did  others,  hour  after  hour,  often  turning  the 
hose  on  herself. 

By  noon  every  business  house  had  been  closed 
— the  mill  had  shut  down  days  before — so  that 
the  men  might  fight  the  fire,  and  at  the  front, 
trying  to  turn  back  that  wall  of  fire  rushing 
down  upon  them,  stood  that  line  of  daring  men. 
Above  the  roar  of  the  fire  the  dynamite  crashed 
and  thundered  as  masses  of  earth  were  blown 
up  to  form  a  fire  wall.  And  from  the  fire 
wall,  amid  showers  of  sparks  and  red  hot  cin- 
ders, crept  the  first  blaze  of  a  back  fire.  Creep- 
ing through  the  dry  brush  on  the  ground, 
leaping  high  with  crackle  and  snap  as  it  licked 
up  the  green  branches,  the  new  fire  began  its 
work.  Up  the  mountain  sides  sprang  the 
flames,  climbing  up  and  up,  leaping  to  the  tops 
of  trees  in  the  rising  gale,  until  with  a  fearful 
roar,  springing  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of 
feet  into  the  air,  the  two  fires  met — met  and 
leaped  and  sank.  And  the  women  sprayed 
their  roofs  and  dashed  out  sparks,  while  even 
small  children  like  Sam,  with  blackened  faces, 
carried  buckets  of  water  to  the  workers.     For 

[37i] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

lack  of  fuel  on  that  mountain  side  the  fires 
slackened.  For  the  moment  the  town  was 
saved,  yet  still  around  them  the  sky  was  red 
with  flames  and  still  through  the  streets  wafted 
the  heavy  suffocating  smoke. 

The  men  might  yet  save  the  town,  unless  the 
wind  should  rise  again.  For  two  days  the  fate 
of  the  town  hung  in  the  balance.  Every  out- 
going train  carried  in  freight  cars  and  day 
coaches  the  women  and  children.  Goss  and 
Jane  came  and  went.  Most  of  the  women  were 
out  of  the  town,  though  the  Widdy,  with  Sam, 
remained.     And  then  the  wind  rose  again. 

Down  the  mountain  on  the  eastern  side  came 
the  rush  and  roar  of  fire.  Dynamiting,  back 
firing,  every  effort  made  by  the  blackened,  ex- 
hausted, heroic  men,  faded  into  insignificance 
under  the  force  and  fury  of  that  wall  of  fire. 
The  mills  were  early  ablaze  and  the  terrible 
heat  and  burst  of  flame  from  the  sawn  lumber 
lighted  the  logs  floating  in  the  pond — logs 
which  burned,  like  ships,  to  the  water's  edge. 
The  bridge  was  in  flames.  Sparks  were  falling 
in  showers  and  half  the  town  ablaze  when  hope 
was  abandoned. 

[372] 


Illahee 


Men,  mad  with  fear,  rushed  through  the  streets 
shouting  that  all  were  ordered  out,  and  lighted 
by  the  fierce  glare  of  the  fire,  every  living  soul 
in  Illahee  rushed  for  the  long  train  of  cars  on 
the  railroad  siding.  The  shrieking  of  train 
whistles  and  the  hoarse  clanging  of  train  bells 
mingled  with  the  booming  of  falling  trees,  the 
roar  of  the  fire  in  the  forest,  the  crackling  of 
the  burning  buildings  were  about  them  as  the 
men  rushed  for  their  one  hope  of  safety.  Open 
box  cars  were  packed  with  men  and  women. 
Day  coaches  were  crowded  to  suffocation  in  the 
hot,  choking  air.  The  smoke  was  so  thick  the 
Widdy  could  not  see  a  car  length  ahead  of  her 
as  strong  men  fairly  threw  her  and  Sam  into  the 
nearest  box  car.  The  train  bells  rang  again, 
the  whistles  shrieked  and  screamed  again,  the 
long  train  crowded  with  its  forlorn  human 
freight  pulled  out,  cautiously,  carefully  through 
the  smoke-laden  air,  and  Illahee  was  left,  tenant- 
less,  to  the  mercy  of  the  flames. 


[373] 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
woman's  rights 

^^TV  TUST  you  go  back  so  soon,  Mr.  Goss? 

-*-▼-*•  Only  eight  days — and  the  rains  have 
put  the  fires  out!"  Mrs.  Fairfax  sat  on  her 
shady  porch  and  looked  up  at  the  tall  man 
standing  before  her,  two  or  three  telegrams  in 
his  hand. 

"The  men  are  worn  out,  Mrs.  Fairfax.  I 
escaped  much  of  the  horror,  you  know,  and  I 
am  needed." 

"I  'd  like  to  know  what  you  escaped?" 

"The  rescue  work.  Can  you  imagine  what 
it  is?  Our  men  go  up  into  the  blackened  moun- 
tain sides,  blocked  with  fallen  trees,  to  pick 
up  the  survivors — other  men  who  are  blinded 
for  life,  men  with  broken  arms  and  legs,  with 
bodies  seared  and  scarred,  or  men  crazed  by 
their  own  terror.  And  they  bury,  too,  wherever 
they  find  them,  the  charred  masses  and  black- 

[374] 


Woman's  Rights 


ened  bones  of  what  were  once  men.  I  escaped 
all  that,  you  see,  thanks  to  my  fall." 

"Don't  tell  me  any  more.  It 's  all  too  horri- 
ble." 

"I  won't.  But  I  must  go  back  to-night  and 
Jeanie  and  I  want  to  be  married — " 

"It's  impossible!"  protested  Mrs.  Fairfax. 
"It 's— " 

"But  you  see,"  persisted  Goss,  with  his  gen- 
tlest manner,  "it  is  wiser  and  that  obviates  the 
impossibility  of  it." 

"Why  wiser?" 

"Because  I  can't  go  back  and  keep  my  mind 
on  my  work,  as  I  must  do,  unless  everything  is 
all  settled.  If  she  is  married,  she  will  stay 
here  with  you  until  I  can  send  for  her.  I  don't 
want  her  to  go  with  me  now,  you  understand. 
That  is  impossible.  I  may  not  be  able  to  re- 
turn here  for  months  to  come,  and  I  want  to 
have  the  right  to  send  for  her  when  it  is  possible 
for  her  to  join  me.  Otherwise,  I  don't  know 
what  independent  notion  she  may  take  into  her 
head — eh,  Jeanie?  And  a  long  engagement — 
I  don't  want  that." 

Jane  sat  in  silence,  smiling  a  little  at  a  certain 
t375] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

recollection  brought  back  by  the  strong,  quiet 
way  in  which  Goss  looked  down  upon  Mrs. 
Fairfax.  She  knew  well  what  the  result  of  the 
discussion  would  be  I" 

"Her  clothes!" 

"She  can  buy  those  after  I  am  gone." 

"But  to  be  married  without  any  engage- 
ment!" 

"That  is  true.  And  I  will  have  to  admit," 
Goss  said  with  a  glimmer  of  mischief  lurking 
about  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  "that  I  have 
never  properly  proposed  to  her.  You  see,  Mrs. 
Fairfax,  I  could  n't.  I  came  up  the  trail  to  her 
cabin  one  day  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth," — 
his  face  grew  graver  for  a  moment — "but  when 
I  met  her," — and  now  there  was  unmistakable 
teasing  in  his  tone,  "she  threw  cold  water  all 
over  me.  Of  course  then  I  simply  sputtered. 
And  a  little  later  she  kept  me  for  so  long  in  hot 
water — " 

"Mr.  Goss!  How  can  you  joke  about  such 
an  awful  tragedy?"  Mrs.  Fairfax  was  shocked. 
Her  mind  went  back  to  the  day,  just  a  week  be- 
fore, when  this  same  man,  blackened  and 
burned,   in   tattered   clothing,   exhausted   from 

[376] 


Woman's  Rights 


the  strain  of  fire  fighting  and  exposure,  had  ac- 
cepted the  shelter  of  her  home. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  But  I  have  to  go  right 
back  into  it  all.  My  life  work  is  in  the  for- 
ests and  again  and  again  I  shall  have  to  fight 
the  fire  devils  as  I  have  this  summer — until 
Congress  gives  us  adequate  appropriations  to 
protect  the  forests.  So  I  'm  bound  to  look  at 
the  lighter  side  of  it  when  I  can,  just  to  save 
myself.  If  I  see  only  the  tragedies — there  are 
too  many  of  them !" 

He  turned  to  Jane,  still  placidly  rocking  in 
her  corner. 

"I  am  going  down  to  get  the  license  and  send 
some  telegrams,  Jeanie.  I  shall  have  to  leave 
on  that  nine  o'clock  train,  you  know."  His 
strong  fingers  twisted  the  telegrams.  Jane 
smiled  up  at  him,  her  answer  in  the  violet  eyes. 

"He  does  n't  consider  you  at  all,  Jane,"  ex- 
postulated Mrs.  Fairfax  after  he  had  left  the 
house.     "I  can't  understand  it." 

"He  is  n't  considering  anything  except  me," 
answered  Jane  quietly,  smiling  softly  to  herself. 
"He  took  me  by  surprise  at  first,  but  I  believe 
he  is  right." 

[377] 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

"And  you  're  the  girl  who  could  'never,  never 
stand  it  to  have  a  man  dictate  to  you/  "  quoted 
Mrs.  Fairfax. 

Jane  laughed  outright. 

"I  tried  to  argue,  but  every  reason  I  might 
have  thought  of  vanished  and  left  me  absolutely 
blank.  The  only  one  I  could  think  of  was  'be- 
cause/ " 

"And  men  do  not  seem  to  consider  'because'  a 
logical  reason,"  said  Mrs.  Fairfax  thoughtfully. 
"I  wonder  why?  But,  Jane,"  she  added  a  mo- 
ment later,  "not  even  to  be  engaged  a  proper 
length  of  timel" 

"Yes,  Sue,  I  know.  But  we  have  met  in  such 
an  unusual  way  and  under  such  unusual  circum- 
stances that  we  know  each  other  as  few  people 
do,  even  after  years  of  married  life.  True 
character  shows  in  the  forest.  And  this  is  all 
of  a  piece  with  our  unconventional  meeting." 
She  laughed  again. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  her  friend. 

"The  way  he  stood  there  and  looked  down  at 
you  a  few  moments  ago  reminded  me  of  my  first 
meeting  with  him,  when  we  quarreled  over 
cutting  the   Douglas   fir.     No,   not  quarreled, 

[378] 


Woman's  Rights 


either.  I  was  angry  but  he  was  perfectly  se- 
rene. He  *|  a  man  who  likes  his  own  way,  but 
he  's  always  reasonable,  and  what  is  more,  he 
is  always  willing  to  give  his  reasons.  And  he 
has  the  gentleness  of  true  strength.  I  'm  not 
afraid  to  risk  my  future  in  his  hands." 

Sue  Fairfax  stood  there  looking  at  her. 
"And  Bert  and  I  thought  you  believed  in 
woman's  rights,"  she  said  with  a  little  gasp  of 
surprise. 

"Poor  abused  phrase,"  laughed  Jane.  "What 
are  women's  rights?  Merely  political  rights, 
or  the  right  to  be  loved  and  sheltered  and  the 
right  to  try  to  work  out  the  ideal  home?  Wt 
don't  limit  men's  rights  to  politics  purely." 

Five  minutes  later  Sue  Fairfax  stood  at  the 
telephone  giving  orders  for  potted  plants,  palms, 
ice  cream,  and  other  things  deemed  essential  for 
even  an  impromptu  wedding.  And  when  Goss 
returned  at  four  o'clock,  he  waved  a  piece  of 
legal-looking  paper  at  Jane. 

"It  will  mean  so  much  to  me  to  know  it  is  all 
settled,  Jeanie  dear,"  he  said,  as  he  took  her  into 
his  arms.  "To  go  away  knowing  that  you  be- 
long to  me.     And  now  I  will  be  quite  proper 

[379  3 


When  the  Forests  Are  Ablaze 

and  conventional, — Miss  Myers,  will  you  please 
be  my  wife?"  The  answer  was  a  mischievous 
laugh  and  a  kiss. 

Half  an  hour  before  he  left  for  the  train,  as 
they  sat  chatting  with  two  or  three  hastily  in- 
vited friends  a  messenger  rang  the  bell.  "Tele- 
gram for  Mr.  Goss,"  he  said. 

Goss  opened  the  yellow  envelope  quickly  and 
gravely,  passing  it  with  a  laugh  to  his  wife.  It 
read: 

"Mr.  Leonard  Goss, 

Care  of  Mr.  Albert  Fairfax, 

Spokane,  Washington. 
Congratulations  and  best  wishes.     You  have 
the  doughnut.     I  have  the  hole. 

BURNHAM." 


THE  END. 


[380] 


YB  33 1  CO 


M31I691 


